


Trapped In Tragedy

by OtakuLilyRose



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prison, Blood and Violence, Bruises, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue, Self-Hatred, working together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-01-22 18:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuLilyRose/pseuds/OtakuLilyRose
Summary: Shizuo finds that when life gives you lemons, they generally come rotten. Izaya's arrest feels like the one good thing the universe has ever decided to offer him, so it shouldn't come as much of a surprise when things quickly start to fall out from under his feet and Shizuo is left in a place he knows he more than deserves.
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Comments: 171
Kudos: 325





	1. Misfortunate

Shizuo’s first reaction was to laugh; wholeheartedly and without restraint. He laughed like he couldn’t stop. It had been the funniest thing he’d ever heard, a joke so ironic he’d have trouble believing it if it weren’t for the one who’d executed the delivery. As it was, Celty stood confused and rather unimpressed with Shizuo’s burst of reaction, her outstretched hand holding the phone she used to communicate falling back to her side once it became obvious Shizuo had read the message written there. Celty wouldn’t lie about something like this, it was too cruel. Shizuo had never thought himself so lucky, so absolutely blessed; it felt like all the misfortune his life had cradled for the last twenty four years had come to a close and this was his reward, his prize, his compensation. 

Izaya had finally been caught out.

Someone had seen through his slimy lies and unjustified schemes and done what Shizuo thought was a long time coming: thrown him in jail. Celty had said that the current theory was he’d sold some information to the wrong person, betrayed a particularly powerful and unforgiving group that had not so much caught him in the act of something unsavoury, but had done everything in their power to bring all of Izaya’s past crimes to light — maybe not _all_ of them, Shizuo was _sure_ there were more; but enough to have him locked up for the near future. Celty was convinced that he must have been framed for several too, that even someone like Izaya wasn’t capable of some of the things they’d said. Shizuo didn’t care, framed or not, he was by no means innocent.  
Once curiosity had overtaken Shizuo, he’d used Celty’s computer to search the internet for articles that gave a more detailed description of Izaya’s conviction and revealed his mass of despicable acts and illegal pastimes at once: breaking and entering, computer crime, accessory to crime, arson, aggravated assault and conspiracy to murder. Shizuo had shivered at that last one but it only made everything that much more justified, only made him feel better about feeling good. 

It wasn’t all that surprising to Shizuo after he’d overcome his initial reaction to the fact, but the news of Izaya’s arrest shook the city and became the biggest topic in town, there was no way shizuo could have missed it even if Celty hadn’t offered it to him first hand, before it had truly spread to infect every conversation and online forum. People gasped in shock and cried with despair and hollered with joy. Mostly the last. Izaya had to have known it was going to happen sooner or later, shizuo was just glad to hear it was the former.

It hadn’t been on the news, but Shizuo could still imagine it with perfect clarity; Izaya’s mugshot, the man standing there forced to hold that stupid plaque with his god forsaken name on it and wear that ugly prison jumpsuit. It had put a smile on his face for the rest of the day, kept him feeling weightless into the week and soothed him to sleep at the end of the night. Izaya was finally out of his town, well not really out of it, just confined to a very small portion of it. But it was good enough, he thought, he’d no longer have to worry about meddling from the other’s part and got to keep his conscience clean as a bonus, he didn’t even have to kill the bastard. And if people looked at him like he was a little bit strange as he walked the streets with his face void of the scowl that so marked his presence, it wasn’t anything new and certainly not something he couldn’t bring himself to ignore. Life felt more blissful than it ever had before and Shizuo savoured every goddamn second.

Because all of a sudden he wasn’t laughing anymore.

The funny faded fast, faster than Shizuo had really been anticipating. Instead it gave way to the low thrum of anxiety, the paranoid, half-shadowed thoughts that would form themselves in the back of his head and stay there even after they’d been dismissed as ridiculous by his friends _and_ himself. But Shizuo couldn’t shake the feeling that something was _wrong_, that maybe Izaya had put himself in prison intentionally, that it was all part of some plan so convoluted and destructive no one had any way of really guessing at it. What if he was trying to take down the system from inside out and release a bunch of criminals onto the street? What if he was still doing the same thing he’d always done, just now with the protection of a thousand steel bars, somewhere even Shizuo couldn’t get to him. What if, what if, what if? They wouldn’t stop coming, every time one fizzled out and dissipated a new one would startle him to life until Shizuo was starting to worry in earnest; the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t stop, until he became obsessed with the idea and consumed by the thought.

By the end of the month Shizuo had convinced himself that something bad was going to happen and every interaction with the outside world brought a frown to his face. It was just a matter of waiting at this point.

He didn’t have to wait long. It had only been three weeks since he’d started tossing restlessly in his sleep and watching the local news every morning, and just over a month since he’d heard the news that had so consumed his thoughts since then, when the knock at his door came. He’d stumbled out of bed at two in the morning, half naked and half asleep, only managing to throw on a thin-worn T-shirt to match the sweatpants he’d worn to bed before pulling open the door. 

He’d been awake in seconds, the sleepy haze had had cleared from his mind within the instant he’d come to focus on the two officers standing outside his door, tasers drawn and cuffs at the ready. It had felt less like a surprise and more like an inevitability, something that on some level he’d already known was going to happen. At least he could let the anxiety drawn tight at the back of his head unravel itself into resignation. 

So he’d let himself be cuffed and escorted out of his apartment building and down onto the street where flashing red and blue lights brought his eyes to sting. He’d let himself be pushed into the car and then into a holding cell for the night, all without speaking a word, without asking what had happened, what he’d done, if this was the horrible thing he’d been anticipating.

When the morning came, Shizuo was dragged from his iron barred cell and into what looked like the interrogation rooms he’d seen on the shows he sometimes caught glimpses of on TV. They let him sit for a while, a tactic he knew was supposed to give him the time to rewind the course of his life and think over every bad thing he had ever done. 

He couldn’t say it wasn’t working.

When someone finally entered the room, let the door swing shut behind them and slam too loud in the small space, it was a tall burley man holding a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a thick folder full of papers in the other. He let the folder fall to slap against the table Shizuo had been seated at before placing his coffee down with a little more care. He took a seat himself slowly, like he had all the time in the world to begin this interaction; it only made Shizuo more nervous. The man reclaimed the folder once he was sitting and began to flick through the surplus of pages, taking alternate sips of his steaming beverage; Shizuo really hoped that the entire folder wasn’t being used as his own personal file.

“Shizuo Heiwajima,” The man finally spoke, “Twenty four years old, living in Ikebukuro, younger brother Kasuka Heiwajima, son to Kichirou and Namiko Heiwajima. Is that correct?” He asked when Shizuo stayed silent.

“Yes.” He answered, his voice only a little bit rough after going unused for so long.

“It has come to our attention that you have a very violent disposition Heiwajima-san.” The man continued “There have been many complaints due to it over the years, hundreds of thousands of yen worth of property damage and you’ve even been arrested before for murder, before they’d come to the conclusion that you had been framed.” Shizuo’s cringe was mostly internal, he made the effort to keep his expression as blank as possible. “Is that correct?”

“Yes.” He answered again, keeping his voice even but letting his hands curl into fists under the table, letting the blunt ends of his nails dig barely distracting pressure into his skin.

The officer placed the folder back on the table so he could flip through pages and have Shizuo be able to see them as well. “Aggravated assault.” Shizuo caught sight of a picture of a man with a busted lip and a black eye paper clipped to the page before the officer flipped it over to a new one. “Aggravated assault.” He repeated as a knew photo came into view, this one with x-rays of broken limbs attached. He turned the page again. “Aggravated assault,” _Another_ page, “Aggravated assault.”

The man paused in flipping through individual pages to skip more than three dozen and turn to somewhere closer to the middle of the folder. “Attempted murder.” He accused. More faces Shizuo had no chance of remembering, in conditions that made them barely recognisable anyway. “Attempted murder.” Shizuo felt like crying, he felt like he was going to be sick.

The officer stopped and Shizuo fought the urge to gasp for breath, like the other’s words were holding him underwater. The man closed the folder harder than was probably necessary and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Shizuo tried to get himself under control, to ease his expression into something that didn’t immediately give away his guilt.

“You’ve hurt a lot of people Heiwajima-san.” The officer spoke gravely. “True, most of them have been criminals, sometimes as a result of the demands of your job, being a bodyguard to a debt collector.” He eyes were sharp, his mouth flat. “But there have been others too. Innocents caught in the line of crossfire of one of your…” He lifted a hand into the air, circled it in a gesture that told Shizuo he was searching for a particular word. “Ah, fits of rage, I think the city likes to call them.” Shizuo hung his head a little lower, eyeing the paint that was starting to peel from the surface of the table. “You’ve had it pretty easy up until now, Heiwajima-san. You’ve never done so much as community service for all the money you’ve cost this city’s infrastructure and the safety you’ve cost its people.” The man’s lips twisted down on a frown. “I’m afraid that can go on no longer.”

The room was silent while the officer took more than a minute to sip at his coffee. Shizuo could hear the clock against the wall ticking out of time with his too fast heartbeat.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” The man finally asked. Shizuo closed his eyes for a moment, there was nothing he could say to dispute anything the man had told him so far, not when every word was an anchor pulling Shizuo’s heart down into his stomach. When Shizuo opened his eyes and his mouth at once, he knew he’d resolved himself to whatever it was this would lead to. 

“Why now?” Shizuo asked, “I’m not excusing the things I’ve done but I’ve been breaking things and,” Shizuo shifted in his seat, “…hurting people for a long time now. Why am I only just being held accountable now?”

The man looked at Shizuo for a moment before relenting with a sigh. “It’s difficult to build a case of evidence without any witnesses willing to speak up; some of which we only just received recently from an anonymous source. Once that happened, people were a lot more willing to give their testimonies and speak out with the comfort of numbers.” Shizuo nodded his slowly, trying to make sense of the information while his brain got stuck on the phrase _anonymous source_. That _had_ to be Izaya, didn’t it? Who _else_ could it be? 

The officer shifted forward on his seat, gathering the folder and his now empty paper cup before pushing the chair back from the table with an ear piercing scrape and standing once more. “We contacted your family last night. You’re brother has already paid for your bail so you’re free to leave and live your life as per usual until your court hearing.”

Shizuo clenched his fists where they sat in his lap, burning with guilt. If he could have wished for anything it would have been to keep this from his family, the last thing he wanted was to bring shame onto them. The officer pulled the door to the room wide open and held it there, gesturing for Shizuo to go on ahead of him. Shizuo quickly stood to leave, keeping his head hung low as he made his way through the station, following the officer out into the waiting room now bathed in the light of daytime. Kasuka was already waiting there, sat in one of the plastic chairs lining the wall with a bodyguard stood by his side.

Shizuo very reluctantly brought himself to meet his brother’s gaze, Kasuka’s face was impassive, like it always was, he didn’t look angry or sad or nervous, and Shizuo didn’t know whether to find it irritatingly insensitive or be grateful for it. “Brother,” Kasuka greeted, his voice as little a tell for his emotions as his face. “Let me give you a ride home.” He offered, gesturing out the glass sliding doors marking the front of the station and onto the street where his private vehicle and driver sat waiting. Shizuo nodded his head in answer and followed his brother out to the car, stepping inside after him as the bodyguard held the door open for them both.

“Thank you.” Shizuo began after the first few minutes of driving, when it became obvious that Kasuka was not going to speak without Shizuo initiating the conversation himself. “For the bail. And driving me home.” He explained.

“That’s what family’s for.” He reassured, turning to look at Shizuo beside him as he spoke. “Ive already contacted my lawyer, you’ll be meeting with him this afternoon.” 

“Okay.” Shizuo conceded, resisting the urge to refuse, to tell his little brother that it was a waste of money. The car pulled up to the curb of Shizuo’s apartment building and the same bodyguard rushed out of his seat in the front of the car to open the door by Shizuo’s side.

“Everything will be okay, brother.” Shizuo paused in stepping out of the car to look back at Kasuka behind him. Despite being stripped of emotion, he knew the words were sincere; he just wished they offered the comfort they were meant to. Shizuo quirked his lips in the smallest of smiles, unwilling to voice his deep settled feeling that it really wouldn’t be.

“Thanks Kasuka.” Shizuo exited the car fully and the door was pushed shut behind him. Shizuo didn’t stay to watch them pull away from the curb and back out onto the street, instead he made straight for the lobby of his apartment building and climbed the stairs to to his door, fumbling the key into the lock and pushing the heavy wood closed behind him. Shizuo threw his keys onto the table by the door, watched them skid along the surface to fall to the carpeted ground on the other side, and moved towards his bedroom. He stripped his T-shirt up over his head and let it fall to the ground, his sweatpants then followed, until he could fall back into bed and pretend that he’d never left, that the last six and a half hours had been nothing but a vivd nightmare produced by his own paranoid thoughts. 

Shizuo left the blankets covering the bed stay tangled down by his feet, let himself shake with the cold he knew he deserved and let his pillow dampen with the slow leak of liquid heat building up behind his eyes.


	2. The Fold Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short one, promise the rest will be longer. Next chapter might be out in a few days.

The rest of the week for Shizuo was a trial in and of itself. He met with lawyers every other morning and spent nights too anxious to sleep. Drifting in and out of a haze, he felt insanity creeping up on him like his shadow always did come early afternoon. With every new day, he still hoped he’d wake to find everything had been a particularly nasty nightmare, but was always disappointed when he realised otherwise. 

Celty had said that his own arrest coming so soon after Izaya’s wasn’t a coincidence, that someone was cleaning the city and eliminating Ikebukuro’s biggest threats by sweeping them off of the streets and throwing them in prison. She’d said they were being smart about it, Shizuo thought as much, they’d have to be to manage putting Izaya in jail. They were always one step ahead and, despite being so powerful, no one had yet to figure out their identity. Others had been convicted since Shizuo too, only a few, but enough to raise a pattern. Celty had said she’d try to find out more, spend her time researching and asking anyone she knew, Shizuo tried to wave her off, to tell her it wasn’t important, but she was being stubborn. God, he was going to miss her.

By the end of the week, Shizuo was sick of lawyers and offices and retelling the same story of his miserable life over and over again, just to give them something to grasp at; mental illness, self defence, unfortunate circumstances, anything to get him some grace. Come the day of the trial, shizuo was pretty much ready to accept whatever it was that was going to happen, just as long as it was _over._

Kasuka had offered to drive him to the trial but Shizuo refused, just like he refused his parent’s and Celty’s insistence they be there as well. Shizuo knew that no matter what happened he didn’t want an audience, especially one of people he cared about, people he could disappoint. But it was a lonely thing, being stuck in an overlarge room with more than enough strangers to fix their attention on him. Shizuo fiddled nervously with the cuffs of his suit jacket, kept his head bowed down to the table in front of him. He wasn’t sure it made him look any less guilty, but couldn’t bring himself to care. 

He had his charges read out loud to the room, Shizuo fought harder to keeping from flinching this time around. The opposing attorney was a smug bastard, and with so much attention being placed on keeping his hands relaxed in his lap under the table, Shizuo kept clenching his jaw tight enough to hurt without even realising it. When his own lawyer finally got the chance to stand and speak on his behalf, Shizuo was surprised out how well he spoke around the arguments the other had provided. He was good with his words and Shizuo could see that if this were any other situation, it’d be money well spent, every penny would have been worth the way he was defending Shizuo with long strings of Japanese so complicated, it started to sound like a different language. But Shizuo knew before they’d even arrived that, that wasn’t going to be the case.

It was a lost cause from the start, he’d known as much. Even if he was innocent, which Shizuo knew he was by no means, whoever wanted him in jail, whoever was pulling the strings had made sure that Shizuo would come out holding the short straw. It didn’t matter how much his brother dished out for a lawyer when the judge was being paid to dismiss anything that might contribute to Shizuo’s innocence. Shizuo had never hated the city like he had then, all its corruption coming to light when it affected him most. He was reaping what he’d sewn, facing the consequences of his actions. 

He told himself he was finally getting what he deserved.

At least that was how he saw it, he knew his friends and family would feel a little different. All the more reason to have them away from here, he thought to himself. He didn’t want to have to see his parents cry, or his brother duck his head in disappointment, or Celty’s shoulders shake with frustration. No, it was easier to let himself be cuffed in his seat and escorted out of the room without anyone making it more difficult to let himself go so easily.

The street out the front of the building wasn’t lined with an audience like he’d feared, like he’d seen in most movies. No one strolling the street so much as spared him a glance as he was ushered into the police car parked by the curb. It was only as they were driving away from the building and toward the outskirts of town that he realised this would be the last time he saw any of the streets lining his home, the last time he’d see coloured lights or skyscraper buildings or the billboard advertisements that always drove him crazy. No more eating Russia Sushi, or visiting Celty and Shinra, or lazing in the park under the sun. He should have lingered in his apartment this morning, run his gaze over every item he owned and thank it for its service. He should have told someone about the plant sitting on his kitchen window sill that would be dead within the week without anyone there to water it.

Shizuo watched the town he’d always loved disappear, watched small shops and apartment buildings merge into desolate factories and industrial estates, and then nothing; just wide plains of space marked by chain link fences and stone faced security guards. The prison was bigger than he’d been anticipating, not only the building, but the never-ending distance of empty land around it made it look like escape would be as difficult as he was sure it was supposed to be.

He contemplated it anyway — as the car pulled to a stop outside the establishment and an officer made his way around the side of the vehicle to open Shizuo’s door — he could run, or at least feign his compliance only to break out the moment he stepped foot inside, he knew he was more than capable. But he could only run for so long, and where would he go? What was a life without the support of his friends and family? 

In the end, Shizuo knew the easiest path he could take was the one that led him through the high security gates of Ikebukuro prison and away from any normalcy his life once held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there probably isn't actually an Ikebukuro prison and if there was there wouldn't be as much space around it as there would in the story, Ikebukuro wouldn't be big enough. But for the sake of the story let's just pretend XD. The entire prison experience will be western based as well, just so I can use what I already know and have seen as part of the story, it'll also probably be more familiar to what people have seen in movies or on TV.


	3. Last Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Everyone! Have this super late chapter as my gift to you <3

He was flanked on all sides by security guards as they led him through the building. Shizuo kept his head down as they walked, stared at the silver metal cuffing his wrists in front of his body and thought about how it’d be like breaking bread to pull them apart; he’d barely have to flinch and he might end up doing it on accident. He realised they were placing a lot of trust in his ability to go along with the whole thing, relying more than he thought they should on his biggest weakness: his guilty conscience.

Thick glass doors opened with the swipe of a keycard and Shizuo was being ushered past what looked like a reception area and into a long hallway. The guards pulled to a stop out the front of one of the rooms lining the hall and shoved him inside. They each filed in after him and closed the door with a click.

One of the guards stepped forward to unlock the cuffs from around Shizuo’s wrists and then stepped back again, Shizuo fought the urge to rub where they’d been pressed too tight around his hands. “Place all of your belongings in there.” The same guard said, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the plastic zip-lock bag lain over the steel table pushed to one side of the small room. 

Shizuo stuffed both hands into the pockets of his slacks to pull out what limited belongings he’d brought with him. He pulled his wallet free first, old and worn, and slipped it into the plastic bag. His phone followed, then his favourite lighter and a half empty packet of American Spirits. He let the bag drop back to the table with a thunk and turned to face the four men still watching him from in front of the closed door.

“Take off your clothes.” One of them ordered, frown low and arms folded across his chest. In his hesitation, Shizuo watched the guard’s hand drift down towards what looked like a taser attached to his belt. He quickly made a show of unbuttoning the front of his suit jacket with one hand and loosening his tie with the other, folding each carefully to set atop the table as he went. He untucked his shirt from his pants and unfastened each button lining the front, pulling too hard at the last few and watching three of the small plastic discs clatter to the ground. The clink of his belt unbuckling felt loud enough to make him cringe in the otherwise quiet room. He pushed his pants down his legs and quickly slipped off his shoes and socks so he could step out of them and set them atop his folded shirt on the table.

When Shizuo turned back to the guards, still clad in his underwear he half expected them to growl an order to take them off too, but they just frowned before stepping forward to push a folded set of navy blue cotton pants and a t-shirt into his arms, a pair of black tennis shoes on top. He changed slowly, a futile effort to draw out the inevitable, and once he was done, they all but shoved him back out the door to continue on down the hallway.

There was a bared metal gate at the end of the hall, heavily secured by scanners and a guard standing on either side. Shizuo could hear noise coming from beyond it, the shout of voices. But before he could get any closer, the guards escorting him quickly veered off to the left and into another room, one bare of anything but a table and two chairs placed in the centre of it. He let himself be pushed into the chair and watched on in confusion as each guard left the room and closed the door behind them. 

The room had no windows, so it wasn’t as though he had much chance of escape, but it was still strange to be so suddenly left alone when he’d just convinced himself he’d never go another second unsupervised for the rest of his life. Shizuo sat slumped in the chair for maybe a minute, glancing around the room. He had been just about to stand and knock at the door, ask what the hell was going on, when it opened again before he had the chance.

Kasuka stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, much to the disapproval he could see painting his bodyguard’s features on the other side of the doorway, before the wood clicked into place and there was only his brother to look at in the otherwise empty room. Shizuo fought the urge to hide under the table as Kasuka took a seat on the other side of it. 

“Brother.” He greeted, voice as flat as ever. The upside to having difficulty interpreting Kasuka’s emotions, Shizuo thought to himself, was that he could easily convince himself there was no disappointment bleeding out of the other’s voice. 

“Hey.” He murmured, staring down at the smudges someone’s fingers had left over the surface of the steel table, before willing himself to look up. “Kasuka, I’m so sorry.” He spoke a little louder, cursing himself for how his voice shook. Kasuka frowned and Shizuo was so startled at the out of character expression that he almost didn’t notice his brother reaching over the distance between them to lay his hand open on the table. Shizuo lifted his own after a hesitant moment and placed it in his brother’s. Kasuka squeezed tightly.

“Please don’t be sorry.” He urged, brows drawing down on an angle to match his lips. “I will be doing everything I can to help while you are gone. We will search for new evidence and have the case reviewed. I won’t let you down brother.” 

Shizuo felt like choking. Kasuka was sitting across from his older brother — the one person he was supposed to have to look up to, to rely on no matter what — dressed in prison scrubs and on the verge of tears, and _he_ was worried about letting _Shizuo_ down? 

He’d laugh if he wasn’t so fucking sad.

“You could never let me down.” He spoke instead, into the helpless look glassing over Kasuka’s eyes and hoped his brother recognised his honestly for what it was. For the first time Shizuo had ever seen in his life, he watched Kasuka duck his head to settle his gaze over the table instead, his grip on Shizuo’s hand never so much as waning.

“I’ll come to visit you every month. Please let me know of anything I can get for you or help you with in the meantime.” Shizuo thought he heard Kasuka sniffle from behind the curtain he’d made of his hair and had to close his eyes just to fight off the overwhelming surge of misery that came with hearing his brother cry. 

“I will.” He promised, knowing full well he wouldn’t. He’d made himself enough of a burden to those around him already. 

Shizuo listened to Kasuka release a shaky breath and opened his glassy eyes the same time his brother lifted his gaze up and away from the table to settle on Shizuo’s instead. “I love you, brother.” He blurted quickly, punctuating the statement with another hard squeeze to Shizuo’s hand. Shizuo squeezed back very carefully.

“I love you too.”

Kasuka gave a small smile and slowly released his hold on Shizuo’s hand, Shizuo let him go despite his every muscle protesting the action. He watched Kasuka stand from his chair and make for the door. “I’ll see you soon brother. Please stay safe.” He twisted back to speak, before turning away once more and pulling on the door handle under his hold. Shizuo watched him slip through the opening and away from view. 

The lights glaring down from the ceiling were too bright, he told himself that was why his eyes were burning. Shizuo leant back in the plastic chair and reached up to scrub his hands over his face, quickly bringing them back down when he heard the door creak open to reveal another surprise visitor. Shinra smiled as he pushed the door closed behind himself, taking a careful seat the the chair Kasuka had tucked in under the table upon leaving.

“Celty says she’s sorry she couldn’t be here.” He spoke once he’d made himself comfortable. “They do a very rigorous ID check for visitors and I think she’d have trouble passing without a face to ID.”

Shizuo gave a lackluster smile. “That’s okay.”

Shinra eyed him carefully for a moment, with the lights reflecting off the surface of his glasses, Shizuo found it hard to read his expression from the smile alone. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

Shizuo huffed a small, unamused laugh. “I’m going to prison, how the fuck do you think I’m feeling?”

Shinra nodded slowly, his smile straining at the edges. “How long?”

“Eight years.” Shizuo answered.

“That’s not too long,” Shinra chirped, “You’ll be out before you know it.” Shizuo didn’t think that deserved a reply. Eight years wasn’t fucking _long?_ He’d be more than thirty by the time he got out, if he even made it that long. “It could have been worse is what I’m trying to say.” Shinra continued. “Izaya got like twenty years! Though I doubt he’ll see the end of one.”

Shizuo frowned. If he was being honest, with all the stress and misery that had unloaded itself onto his life in the past few weeks, he’d almost completely forgotten about Izaya. He felt like that might have been a serious lapse in judgement on his end. “Izaya,” Shizuo started carefully, _reproachfully_. “He’s not… _here_, is he?” God that’d just be the icing on the fucking cake, the absolute end to his supply of good luck, if he ever had any. Shizuo half expected Izaya to have been shipped off to some high security prison in the middle of the ocean. He honestly thought that’s what it’d take to keep the bastard in one place. The idea that he could be sharing the same space as him, however big, for the next eight years had Shizuo searching the ceiling for the best place to hang himself. 

Shinra hummed, tapping the tip of one finger to his chin. “I don’t see why not,” He pondered, “This is the closest one. Unless he’s already done something to get himself kicked out and moved to a bigger one, I’d say it’s most likely.” Shinra must of caught his painful grimace because he smiled a little more softly. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t think he’s going to be in any position to antagonise you.” Shinra sighed, “If anything I think he’ll be throwing himself at your feet and begging for protection.”

Shizuo scoffed, _that_ was a disturbing thought.

“Anyway.” Shinra went on. “Celty said she’d be doing everything she could to further her investigation on who worked to put you guys in here. She wants you to know she’s not giving up on you.”

Shizuo smiled. “Tell her I’m grateful.” 

“I will,” Shinra promised, “Is there anything we can do for you in the meantime?”

Shizuo shifted his gaze to the table for a moment of thought. “Can you give Celty the plant in my kitchen to take care of while I’m gone?” He asked, “Everything else is packed and going into storage once the rent runs out, but I left the plant out on the counter.” Celty had plants of her own at home so Shizuo trusted her to take care of it. It was the only living thing he owned, it’d be nice to still see it living once he managed to get out.

“Of course.” Shinra smiled a little more enthusiastically. 

The door to their left creaked open again and this time is was one of the guards stepping through to hold the door open in his wake. “Time’s up.” He called and Shinra rose from his seat in one swift movement. 

“I’ll see you soon.” The brunette chirped, “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

Shizuo scowled. _Too much trouble?_ He was going to prison for fuck’s sake, how much worse could it possibly get for him.

Once Shinra’d left the room, and the guard holding the door open hadn’t moved from his spot, Shizuo stood from his chair and followed the silent order to leave the room as well. The guard stepped through and let the door fall closed behind him, taking the lead in front of Shizuo to head towards the end of the hallway, where the metal gate he’d caught sight of earlier separated it from the rest of the building. The two guard’s he’d seen manning the gate beforehand were now absent.

Shizuo watched as the man pulled a security card from his pocket to press at the scanner before him, something on the gate buzzed and then it was sliding open by itself. When Shizuo took too long staring at it, the guard turned back to get his attention. “Oi.” He warned and Shizuo quickly stumbled forward past the open gate, glancing back to watch it slide closed behind him. 

Shizuo followed the guard through the building, the noise he’d heard earlier becoming louder the further into the prison they walked. “Wake up is at 0700 hours, breakfast is at 0730.” The man began to speak as he led Shizuo down grey concrete hallways. “Lunch is at 1300 hours, outside time is from 1500 to 1700 hours. Cells lock at 2000 hours, lights out at 2100.” The guard took a sudden turn to the left and Shizuo struggled to keep up. “The rest of the time is to do with as you please, you can read in the library or socialise in the cafeteria. Spending extended periods of time alone in your cell is not advised but we understand it may be necessary while you are finding it difficult to settle in.” The guard didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “You will be addressed by your number here, it’s printed on everything you own, your clothes, your bedlinen.” Shizuo looked down to study the small number printed onto the front left of his shirt. _114_. He was pretty sure he’d seen it printed across the back too, when he’d first put it on.

The sharp turn they had taken led to the cells, long rows of them lining the wall. The guard kept moving towards the end of the hallway. “Your cellmate shouldn’t give you too much trouble. I’ve asked him to show you around once he gets back.” The guard slowed to a stop a few cells before the end of the hall. Turning to face the one they’d paused in front of, he used his hand to gesture Shizuo inside. “This will be yours, the bottom bunk is free.” He explained, and Shizuo stepped inside the cell. The bunk beds were pressed to one side of the wall, dark, itchy looking blankets draped over thin mattresses and pillows. Towards the back wall there was a sink with a shelf above it, a couple of toothbrushes and toothpaste left lying atop; Shizuo could see his number printed along the length of one of them. Behind a small wall, left for privacy Shizuo wouldn’t have thought they’d have the generosity to offer here, there was a toilet.

All in all, the space was small, the walls were bare; it honestly wasn’t too different from his own apartment.

“The main dining area and other facilities are that way.” The guard pointed to another hall leading off from the one holding the cells. “Or you can wait until your roommate gets back. I don’t really care.” He admitted, turning away from the cell to walk back the way they’d come. Shizuo watched him go before pivoting to scan the room once more. There was no way to tell what time of day it was from here, but he guessed somewhere around mid afternoon, taking into account the time of the trial and how long it felt like it had been since then. 

Shizuo dropped into the bottom bunk and tried to ignore it creaking under his weight. He laid back over the blankets and stared up at the metal slats holding the bed above him, trying to think about nothing at all. 

He wished he had something of his own, something he could have brought, a photo, a book, a goddamn teddy bear; just something to hold onto, something to ground him in a place where he already felt so adrift, that would let him hold onto the life he could already feeling slipping away like it never existed at all.


	4. Rough Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Systems for prisons seem to be different everywhere, so take note I am just making up my own based on what I have read regarding uniform and schedule.

When Shizuo moved to turn over, the bed under him squeaked.

Maybe if he hadn’t heard, he could have pretended he was still at home, passed out in his own bed and tangled in his own sheets. But the springs of the mattress he lay on now shifted under him in all the places even his crappy one at home had never managed to. And when he pressed his face harder into the pillow under him, it smelt like laundry powder he wasn’t familiar with. 

The cell was dark, he found upon reluctantly opening his eyes. Lights had been turned off and the gates had been locked. Shizuo wondered how long he’d been passed out, how long he’d have to wait until someone came to tear him out of bed and force him into an interaction with something that wasn’t in his dreams. It was then that he heard the creak of springs from a bed than wasn’t his own. Shizuo looked up to see the mattress above him shifting under the weight of the person sleeping in it it.

_Fuck_

He couldn’t _believe_ he slept through his roommate coming back and settling in for the night. Had less than an hour in prison already stripped him of any sense of self preservation he once had? Sleeping with his back to strangers, never mind _inmates_ wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have to berate himself for doing, but damn if it wasn’t a terrible start to keeping himself alive. He may have been Ikebukuro’s strongest, but he was only indestructible if he was awake to defend himself.

Shizuo wondered if he was really cut out for surviving this prison thing after all. 

Shizuo couldn’t will himself to fall back asleep now that he’d woken to the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. So he lay staring at the bottom of the bed above him instead, making up faces for his new roommate while the sun rose where he couldn’t see it on the other side of his brick wall.

The lights turned on eventually, flickered to life like that might make their sudden, glaring presence any more inviting. A few seconds later, the barred gate to his cell slid open. At least now he knew what time it was, he’d never realised how disorientating it might be to be left so unaware of the time of day. Being closed off from the sun felt like being buried underground and Shizuo couldn’t wait for the chance to go outside again. 

The bed above him squeaked again as its occupant sat up and began to make for the small ladder welded to the side of the frame. Shizuo watched them throw their legs over the edge and take each step down slowly, he watched them descend lower and lower until their face came into view and—

Shizuo caught the gaze of his new cellmate, frozen still as they stared at each other for what must have been longer than normal. The other man blinked once, twice, then he finished climbing down the ladder to step around the side of the bed and come closer to where Shizuo had sat up in his own. 

“Hi.” The other man greeted, lifting a hand to wave at Shizuo as though he might have been standing more than a metre away, as though the room might have allowed them to stand with more than that for space.

“Hi.” Shizuo answered carefully, leaving his hands limp in his lap. “I’m Shizuo.”

The other man smiled, small and soft and maybe a little wary. He couldn’t have been much shorter than Shizuo, but somehow he seemed smaller, even if his short dark hair and the lines around his mouth made him look like he could be close to ten years older than Shizuo himself. “Saito.” He offered. “It’s nice to meet you, Shizuo.”

“Yeah, you too.” Shizuo spoke back, feeling a little awkward in spite of himself. What was protocol for greeting new cellmates? He had no fuckin’ clue. At least this guy looked alright; Shizuo could have been stuck with anyone for a roomie, with his luck probably someone that had eaten a few people. But this guy didn’t look like a complete psycho, so Shizuo counted himself lucky.

Not that he thought he was a particularly good judge of character, or that he was capable of getting a good grasp on this stranger with less than fifteen seconds of interaction. He could still be a psycho. He could still be a cannibal.

“The Warden asked me to show you around today.” The man he now knew as Saito explained. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you to breakfast and show you stuff on the way.” Saito turned to make for the sink at the back of their cell and select his toothbrush off of the shelf. 

“Yeah, okay.” Shizuo agreed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to stand up slowly. After brushing his teeth awkwardly alongside his new roommate, Shizuo warily stepped out of his cell to follow Saito’s lead. He thought he’d have been happy to spend what was left of this day where he’d spent the last too — passed out along the length of his new bed — if it weren’t for the way his stomach clenched painfully at the promise of breakfast; the last time he remembered eating something was almost twenty four hours ago.

Shizuo kept his head down as they made their way through large corridors — the occasional inmate’s shadow brushing by his own — and only lifted it in small upward flits of his eyes as Saito pointed out all the relevant destinations on their way to the cafeteria. “There’s the library.” He spoke, gesturing to the open double doors by Shizuo’s left. “I spend most of my time in there.” All Shizuo could catch glimpses of through the open doors were rows of books lined neat on shelves and a few pillows scattered about the carpeted floor; it looked fairly luxurious for a prison, and Shizuo immediately knew he’d be spending a lot of time there too.

“Showers are down there,” Saito pointed down an adjacent hallway, “We usually have the chance to shower once a day before dinner — less if you’re on bad terms with the warden.” 

Saito stopped once they reached the end of the corridor. “This is the cafeteria,” He stated and Shizuo almost couldn’t bring himself to look up from the faded black of his tennis shoes. He felt like a child on his first day at school, confused and vulnerable and eager to be almost anywhere else. He remembered having a buddy then too, someone older to show him the ropes. They’d ditched him halfway through the day, but Shizuo couldn’t exactly blame them.

The cafeteria spanned the length and width of what felt like a small concert hall. Tables were scattered all over the concrete floor, most of which were filled with inmates talking loudly. 

Forget breakfast. Shizuo wasn’t hungry anymore.

Beyond the tables, across the other side of the room, Shizuo could see the entry that led to outside, some of the light streaming through the small glass windows fixed into each side of the closed double doors. “This way.” Saito’s voice pulled Shizuo out of his thoughts, and he quickly stepped forward to follow after the other man leading him to the back of the breakfast line.

If Shizuo thought he’d lost his appetite at the sight of so many people, a quick glance at the tray of food in his hands meant he’d definitely lost it now. Shizuo followed Saito’s lead in finding a seat at one of the few empty tables, off to the corner of the room and out of harms way. He let himself sink as best could into the cold metal chair and keep his gaze on the tray of what could only _very generously_ be called food in front of him. 

“I usually sit alone.” Saito spoke up from beside him, Shizuo turned to watch the other man drag a plastic spork through some slop. “It’s always a risk taking a table with other inmates, and I’ve only been here a couple weeks so I haven’t really had time to make friends.” Saito grimaced around a mouthful of his food. “At first I was worried isolating myself would get me targeted, that people would think I was weak, but keeping to myself has done me well so far.” He cut his gaze across to Shizuo, “I recommend you do the same.”

Shizuo lowered his eyes back to his food and finally willed himself to reach out and grab a stale looking piece of toast to take small, reluctant small bites from. “Yeah well, that’s fine with me,” He agreed, “I’m not really interested in making friends.” And Shizuo knew that was going to be the case from the start, but saying it now, well… he hadn’t expected it to make him feel so lonely. 

At least he had Saito; the more Shizuo spoke to him, the more he was beginning to realise he’d hit the fucking roommate jackpot. 

When Shizuo flicked his eyes up to catch the other man’s gaze, Saito was smiling softly. “You don’t look like your personality.” He said, and Shizuo almost dropped the toast held loose between his fingers at such an obscure observation. He must have had a strange look on his face because Saito continued without waiting for a response. “I mean, when I first saw you I was anticipating someone a little more rough. You have a bit of a menacing aura, with your hair and all.” He tried to explain, gesturing to Shizuo’s messy blonde locks, the ones he’d only dyed in an effort to keep people at bay. “But when I speak to you, you actually seem really introverted and quiet.” He finished, ducking his head to look back down and scoop up another spoonful of food. 

Shizuo swallowed his last piece of toast and pushed the tray holding the rest of his food away. It was a little early in their… whatever kind of relationship this was to be sharing so much, but Shizuo thought it was better now than ever to clear the air. “I don’t like violence.” He started, let the statement hold firm before moving on to his next sentence. “But I have a bit of a problem with my temper. When I get angry, I lose control of my own strength and hurt people,” He explained. “I died my hair in middle school to try and keep people from approaching or starting fights with me.”

Saito hummed, taking in the new information Shizuo had generously shared. “Did it work?”

Shizuo turned to look at the other man and found genuine curiosity in his eyes. He thought back to his first day of high school, to the sharp sting of a blade, to the countless bodies that had practically thrown themselves at him throughout the course of his years since then, to the very nature of the last job he held, and huffed a small unamused laugh. “Not really.”

Saito shrugged around his smile, “Well there’s something to be said for trying.” He resumed eating his meal and Shizuo settled his gaze back down on the steel table in front of him.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Once Saito finished clearing his tray, Shizuo offered what was left of his own; the other man eagerly obliged. “If you keep your head down, life’s pretty easy here. I’m almost used to it and it’s only been two weeks.” Saito flicked his gaze back up to offer Shizuo a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll get on fine.” 

Shizuo wasn’t convinced.

“Even keeping out of everyone’s way for the last couple weeks, I’ve still learnt a whole lot just from watching and whispers.” Saito continued, pushing Shizuo’s now finished tray back across the table. “If you really wanna survive here, I’ll give you some tips.”

Shizuo narrowed his eyes at the other man’s carefree expression, trying to find any hint of deception layered under the small smile and easygoing tone. “What’s the catch?”

“Huh?” Saito looked genuinely confused at the question, at the accusation that he wasn’t helping Shizuo out of the kindness of his own heart. 

“Why would you help me?” Shizuo asked, “What do you get out of it?”

Saito huffed a small surprised laugh at the impact of Shizuo’s harsh words. “You’re the first person I’ve had this long a conversation with since I’ve been here,” He started, “You’re also the most friendly person I’ve talked to, and it sounds like you can hold your own in a fight. Is it really that hard to believe that I don’t want you to kick the bucket within the first week of being here?”

For Shizuo, it usually _would_ be. He knew he could be naive at times but even _he_ was aware everyone had a motive; if someone wanted to help you, they probably had a reason for doing so. Saito was invested in Shizuo’s survival because it benefited his own and, under the circumstances, Shizuo thought that was the best reason he was going to get.

“Alright.” He conceded, letting his scrutinising gaze fall back into the one that had, by some miracle, been deemed _friendly_ by the other man. “What’s your advice?” He asked, and _really_, despite his very situation being telling of exactly how much luck he’d found himself without the past week, Shizuo had apparently come into this hell with fate on his side because not only had he landed a roommate that looked about as toxic as a bed of fresh flowers, he was also being offered advice and assistance in surviving a lifestyle he was quickly coming to realise he was far from cut out for. 

He should have been kissing this man’s feet, not analysing his every word like one of them might lash out and bite him.

Saito tapped a single finger over the table in front of them. “First,” He said, “You’re going to have to eat more than that if you don’t want to wither away.” Shizuo frowned, that was easier said than done. “I know it’s not great but you’ll get used to it eventually. Second,” He brought down another finger to begin tapping both in unison. “Safest space here is probably the library, it’s where I spend most of my time. Using it will keep you from going insane and give other inmates less of an opportunity to confront you.” 

Shizuo had no complaints there; he’d never been a big reader but he was happy to change that now. 

“And it goes without saying that the most dangerous place is outside.” He spoke quietly, “Outside time is compulsory, but even if it wasn’t I would never recommended missing out on it for the sake of avoiding other people. It’s a not-that-big space filled with a whole lot of people so, _obviously_, it’s where most shit goes down.” Saito shrugged, looking away from Shizuo for a moment. “If someone is going to pick a fight with you there, there’s not much you can do about it, but try to keep out of the way, stay in the shadows.” Shizuo nodded his head slowly, trying to process the information. It was nothing new; he’d spent most of his life trying to keep his head down and reject any attention that came his way, he should have been a pro at it by now.

“And lastly,” Saito’s voice was deeper, more steady now. When he fully turned in his seat to settle his gaze on Shizuo’s, his eyes were more serious than Shizuo had seen since talking to the man. “What I’m about to tell you is not advice Shizuo, it’s _bible_. I recommend making allies, even just acquaintances. But if you want to stay alive, there are some people you must, under no circumstances, come into contact with. Do you understand?”

Shizuo nodded slowly once more, but now he was infinitely more aware of the eyes that were not Saito’s own boring into the back of his head. He’d turned in his seat to face Saito properly, but out the corner of his eyes, he could see other inmates either taking quick glances at him or outright staring. “Yeah.” He answered, swallowing thickly. 

Saito seemed to relax at the verbal admission, and he sagged a little further into his seat, blunted the sharp edge to his gaze. “Okay,” He began, shuffling his chair closer to Shizuo’s own, so much so that their knees were almost touching. He was still facing Shizuo with every inch of his body, but Shizuo could see the other man taking quick glances into his peripheral vision. “Don’t look directly when I point someone out to you, eye contact with some of these people is just asking for a fight.”

“Okay,” Shizuo admitted, fighting the urge to turn around and glare off anyone still looking in their direction.

“Try and steer clear of anyone wearing dark green, they’re from the psych ward.” That was good to know, the last thing Shizuo needed was to be on the radar of a _crazy_ criminal. “There’s a big group of people by the table in the right corner,” Saito’s gaze quickly flicked out and back, almost too fast for Shizuo to see, “One next to them, one in the middle of the room, and another by the left corner.” Shizuo let his eyes wander as best they could without moving his head, glancing around the room to catch sight of each table Saito was talking about before moving onto the next. They were easy to pick out now that they’d been _pointed_ out, each holding the largest amount of people and talking the loudest — with the exception of the one by the left that had only half the amount of people than the one on the right and seemed to be talking amongst themselves at a respectable volume.

“They’re all gangs, the most prominent ones anyway,” He explained, “The ones you should look out for.” Shizuo wasn’t sure how he’d know to avoid any of them personally; unless they were all sitting together at the table, it was almost impossible to tell them apart. “It’s common knowledge to steer clear of anyone associated with them because you piss one off, you piss all of them off.”

“Right.” Shizuo answered, letting Saito know he understood before the other moved on.

“They’re all pretty dangerous but the worst, by _far_, is the one on the left.” Shizuo didn’t need to look again to remember that was the one he’d deemed the least threatening due to numbers alone.

“Really?” He asked, not entirely meaning to sound as skeptical as he probably did.

Saito smirked, “They’re only small because they’re exclusive.” He answered, all but reading Shizuo’s mind. The smirk vanished. “There may be less of them but that’s just because they’re all the most dangerous, they practically rule the place just between the handful of the them. From what I’ve heard, anyway.” Shizuo guessed that made sense, a gang with less people to control meant more stability, meant less conflict within the group.

“The one with the buzzcut is the most violent, apparently he’s picked off half a dozen inmates over the years. I don’t know why he hasn’t been moved to a high-security prison, I’m guessing the leader has ties with the warden or something.” He mumbled a little more quietly than before. 

“Leader?” Shizuo asked; if he’d have known prison was almost as political and well structured as Yakuza, maybe he’d have forced himself to do some research before today.

“Yeah, Tatsuo. He’s the one at the corner of the table. No one could tell me much about him other than the fact that he holds the most power over everyone and he’s really fuckin’ bad news.” Saito turned his head to look away from the direction of the table in question. “You don’t want to so much as breath next to him, let alone catch him looking at you. Same goes for the guy next to him.”

“The guy next to him?” Shizuo prompted, resisting the urge to turn and stare directly at the table in question.

“Tatsuo’s right hand man. They’ve been joined at the hip since I got here, and everyone I talk to tells me they’re the top two to stay away from. Apparently the other guy’s only been here a month and a half or something; I guess that gives you an idea how dangerous he is, if less than a couple of months here gets you most feared over people that have been working to achieve the same thing for more than a decade.”

Shizuo frowned at the strange feeling clenching deep in his gut, the way the back of his neck prickled like someone was sliding ice down his spine, and turned head head in a sharp burst of movement to look directly at the table Saito was making such an active effort to look away from.

He thought he might have heard the other man whimper at his sudden movement, but Shizuo ignored it, instead taking the time to gaze over each member of the table. They were all quickly dismissed; too normal, too boring, no one he’d pick out of a crowd. He let his gaze linger at the corner of the table for a second or so, let himself take in the features of the man that apparently held so much fear over the other occupants of the prison. 

He looked fairly normal too, non-threatening even, if it wasn’t for how dark his eyes looked behind the shadow of the even darker hair falling in front of his face. From what Shizuo could see at the distance he was, the man looked young but worn, his gaze sharp and cunning, his smile secretive but sweet. He looked like a man with everyone wrapped around his finger, relaxed and at ease. He looked manipulative, he looked smart. 

He looked a hell of a lot like the man sitting next to him.

Shizuo’s gaze slid to settle over Izaya very reluctantly. He might have been more surprised to find him there if he hadn’t been nursing the strange twist in his stomach since Saito mentioned someone who’d risen the ranks in less than two months, since Shinra had put the idea in his head from across the distance of a small table. As it was, all the confirmation did for him was let it twist further, to the point where he was glad he’d barely eaten because Shizuo thought he might be sick. 

Izaya had his head in his hand, looking bored and lazily flicking his gaze between two members of his table as they spoke. But he must have been able to sense someone’s lingering eyes, or just sense the presence of Shizuo himself because barely a few seconds after Shizuo had turned to stare at him was Izaya flicking his gaze up and away from his table mates to lock eyes with Shizuo instead.

He looked shocked.

His eyes widened on slow dawning familiarity, his mouth parted slightly in the most genuine surprise Shizuo had ever seen on the man, the most genuine _anything_ he’d ever seen on him. For all the surprise Shizuo _hadn’t_ felt at confirming Izaya’s presence, Izaya himself seemed like Shizuo was the very last person he’d been thinking to find staring at him from across the room.

The shock must have faded fast because as quickly as the expression appeared, it vanished, and Izaya’s lips stretched to form a grin so slow spreading and elated, Shizuo had half a mind to turn around and hide himself under the steel table. He frowned instead, forced himself to meet Izaya’s manic glee with a glare hard enough to make any sane person waver.

“Oh _shit_.” Shizuo heard Saito hiss beside him. “He’s looking right at you. He’s looking _right fucking at you._” The other man sounded panicked but Shizuo couldn’t bring himself to care. “It’s barely been ten seconds and you’ve already broken the golden rule.” He muttered. 

Someone at Izaya’s table must have caught his distracted gaze and lopsided smile because another few members quickly turned in their seats to look back in search for whatever Izaya was staring at like it’d just told him he won the lottery. A few people quickly turned to four, then five; in a few seconds, it felt like half the room had turned to watch Shizuo watching Izaya. And he must have done a bang up job of keeping attention away from himself so far because everyone was looking at him now like they’d never seen him before, like he was a fresh piece of meat; he swore some of them were salivating. 

When Shizuo looked back to Izaya, the grin had died down to a smirk. Saito tugged at his arm, “Look away, Shizuo! Look away!” He kept hissing under his breath, punctuating each word with a sharp tug to his navy sleeve. Shizuo broke the stare with a grimace, turning away to sit in his chair properly and leave the back of his hunched over shoulders to the rest of the room. 

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, you’re gonna get _me_ killed.” Saito muttered to the table in front of him, refusing to look anywhere but it’s shiny steel surface. “Maybe you’re not the best person to be hanging out with after all.”

Shizuo frowned, hands clenching to fists under the table. He wasn’t scared, he could take any one of these criminals on, probably all at once, and still come out relatively unscathed, but he _really_ didn’t want to. Shizuo knew that proving his strength and establishing his dominance like most people here seemed so eager to do would only lead him to be truly alone. It would prevent anyone from ever approaching him again and probably scare away the one connection he’d already made. 

Shizuo let his hands relax from their fists with a sigh. “He would have approached me once he recognised me anyway. I’ll ignore him from now on.” He promised, despite it being something he’d struggled to do for the last however many years he’d known Izaya. 

Saito rolled his eyes, “A little late for that,” He scoffed, before pausing. “Wait… recognise you? You know him?”

Shizuo turned to catch the other’s disbelieving stare. “Yeah,” He answered, resting his elbow on the table to support the weight of his head in his hand. “We don’t get along.” It was a meagre way to sum up the entirety of their relationship, but Shizuo hoped Saito would forgive him for the understatement.

“Huh,” Saito let his shoulders sag, “I guess that was inevitable then.”

Inevitable? Shizuo thought it was all just very, very _bad_ luck.

“Don’t worry, I can protect you from him if he tries something. He’s harmless, all bark and no bite.” It wasn’t exactly true, Shizuo knew first hand how dangerous a man Izaya could be, but in a physical fight — and without his favourite knife to wave around — he was no match for Shizuo, probably no match for half the people in this room.

Saito looked confused. “Are you sure you know him?” He asked. “Apparently he’s one of the best fighters here. On my first day, he broke a guy’s arm and busted up his face for calling him pretty. It was a big guy too.”

Shizuo frowned. That wasn’t likely, Izaya was so thin and lanky. Sure he was agile and fast and strong enough to scale walls or launch himself over fences, but he wasn’t a fighter, he’d never once seen the man in all the years of knowing him, engage in hand-to-hand combat, a fist-to-fist fight.

“Maybe he’s changed since you saw him last,” Saito suggested. “Apparently he started out pretty rough when he first got here. Something about his job meaning there were a lot of people he’d fucked over that are in here because of him.” That wasn’t hard to believe, Shizuo didn’t want to say the bastard deserved it for all the shit he’d pulled but— no, wait — he definitely did. 

It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise that even out of his natural environment, Izaya was able to quickly build a rapport, establish his presence, and let everyone know just how powerful he really was. Izaya was a natural manipulator, a born-to-be backstabber. He’d spent most of his life getting what he wanted through whatever means necessary and Shizuo should have known it wouldn’t stop just because someone locked him up and told him to. Izaya was nothing if not adaptive, but surely a month and a half wasn’t enough time to become top dog in a prison full of people who hated you. 

Surely it wasn’t enough time for him to _change._

Shizuo had a feeling he’d be finding out soon enough.


	5. Unfamiliar

Shinra had said that it was Izaya who wouldn’t see the end of the year but, with the way things were turning out, Shizuo thought it was _him_ who’d be lucky to see the end of the day. 

Granted, he’d also told him Izaya would be in no place to antagonise him, that he’d be throwing himself at Shizuo’s feet — something that had very much _yet_ to happen. But with Izaya all but second in command to ruling the prison, and Shizuo at the bottom of the food chain, he thought his chances of survival, or at least surviving comfortably, were dwindling down to slim.

Saito virtually dragged him from the cafeteria in his haste to get away from the audience Shizuo had drawn with his display of blatant staring. He didn’t fight it, hell the further he got away from Izaya’s familiar smirk the better he was convinced he’d feel. Saito stopped outside the double doors of the library, releasing his hold on Shizuo’s wrist to push on the door and step into the room.

It was quiet, it was calm. It was everything Shizuo needed in a space. Long wooden bookcases stacked into rows filled most of the room, with a small space beside that, carpeted and scattered with pillows. Saito ushered him towards the bookcases and past the guard sat behind small counter closed off with a plastic screen. “You can read anything you want so long as you’re in here,” Saito spoke once they stopped between two shelves, hidden by the shadows looming high, “But if you want to check something out to take back to your cell, you gotta take it to the counter and they’ll put it on record. It goes without saying that check out privileges can be taken away pretty quickly if someone thinks you’re causing trouble.”

“Okay.” Shizuo scanned the titles of the books he could see — some old and worn, others more recent but still just as shabby — and reached out to graze his fingers along one nearby, dragging them through the dust collecting at its spine. 

“I’m gonna go search for a new book to start.” Saito spoke back over his shoulder, moving to the end of the row and stepping around it into another out of Shizuo’s view. Shizuo turned away from where he’d just watched Saito disappear behind the aisle and faced the line of books he was still touching instead. The one caught at his fingers, the one he’d unintentionally wiped free of dust collecting over the title, looked well loved. It was a paperback, coloured red and cream with dark, bold characters printed along the spine. Shizuo pulled it from where it had been tucked into the shelf tight amongst the other books to read the large title with more ease than he’d have managed with the small print along the edge.

_‘No Longer Human, Dazai Osamu.’_

The name was familiar, Shizuo thought he might have had a class that briefly covered him in high school, but he had no recollection of reading the book. Shizuo tucked it under his arm and walked back out of the rows of shelves to the carpeted ground beside it, kicking one pillow into place by the wall before dropping to sit over it. He hadn’t bothered reading the blurb covering the back of the book when he’d picked it up and he wasn’t going to now. Shizuo sagged against the wall he’d propped himself up against and turned to the first page of the book, ready to lose himself in a story that was as far from his own miserable life as he could get. 

He couldn’t get far.

Shortly after Saito came to settle in beside him, a small stack of books in hand, Shizuo began to realise the protagonist of his story felt just as miserable about his life as Shizuo currently did. More than once throughout the first chapter of the story he had to stifle the urge to yell at the main character, force him to realise how worse off his life could be; he could have been in Shizuo’s shoes after all. But even someone else’s misery was still an escape from his own, so Shizuo lost himself in the story, so much so that when Saito pushed up to stand from the floor and let him know it was time for lunch, Shizuo was surprised enough time had passed since breakfast for that to be the case. 

He refused, like Saito must have known he would if the exasperated look he directed at Shizuo was any indication, but Shizuo still had yet to build an appetite strong enough to stomach anything the prison would be offering, and staying where he was to continue the book he was reading still felt more enticing than venturing out into a space where there was a chance he might run into Izaya.

Saito left without arguing, but Shizuo was sure there were only so many times he could refuse to join him for a meal before he’d start putting up a fight. 

When Shizuo’s back started to ache from leaning slumped over against the wall, he decided he’d be better off reading in his — only slightly more comfortable — bed. Standing from his spot with his book still in hand, Shizuo made for the small counter cut into the side of the wall. The guard behind the plastic screen scowled at his approach. 

“Uh,” He started, placing his book on the counter and sliding it under the divider, “I’d like to check this out.” 

The guard sighed like Shizuo's very presence was an inconvenience. He ran the barcode on the back of the book under an electronic scanner until it beeped, spent a moment typing something into the computer — judging from his quick glance at the numbers on Shizuo’s shirt, it wasn’t hard to guess — and then pushed the book back over the counter, dismissing Shizuo by burying his face in the newspaper he was holding.

Shizuo didn’t bother thanking him, he was only polite to people who deserved it. He pushed his way out of the glass double doors sealing the library and stepped into the hallway, glancing left and right in an effort to recall what direction he was supposed to be heading so he could make it back to his cell.

He headed right, moving away from the sound of the cafeteria and towards what he hoped was the quiet privacy of an empty cell. He passed some stragglers as he walked, caught sight of some inmates sleeping in their cell or conversing with each other. He kept moving, all the way to the end of the hall so he could take another turn and hope to god he was retracing the right steps back; last thing he needed was to find himself lost in some dark corner of the prison. 

Shizuo was — for the most part — looking at the ground as he walked, watching his own feet move over the rough concrete beneath him, so when he stopped after turning into what he hoped was the last hall it was more because he felt the presence of another person blocking his path than he did see them. 

Shizuo let his gaze slowly slide up from the floor. It caught at black tennis shoes, not a great giveaway as far as identity went, seeing as they seemed standard for all inmates, but Shizuo already knew who he’d see if he looked up without having to study their appearance. It was a good thing too, because Shizuo might not have immediately recognised Izaya if he hadn’t spent nearly a decade knowing the other man, if that never changing grin didn’t strike familiarity like a hammer to the back of his head. 

And familiar, it was. Of all the other changes Shizuo could see marking Izaya’s current appearance, that taunting smirk hadn’t changed a bit, looked just as sharp as he’d always remembered it being. 

Even so, Shizuo found it hard to hide the shock at seeing up close how much he’d changed, what just a month and a half had done to him. His hair was a little longer around his face, his skin a little fairer, but Shizuo could see the strength he’d always known was there — but had never been so visibly obvious — in the muscles of his arms, where his sleeves were rolled up to his biceps, in the square of his shoulders, in the way he held himself like he was ready to fight and not run. 

He looked a lot rougher than he’d remembered, more intimidating too. Where Shizuo was used to seeing a level of grace and elegance fit for someone ready to join the ballet, Izaya looked like, well he looked like he’d been sent to prison. Shizuo was honestly surprised at Izaya’s ability to adapt so well, he’d expected him to have all but withered away into nothing — he’d always been so skinny, still _was_ — but now he looked bigger somehow; if not physically then something about his aura, his metaphorical presence.

When Shizuo looked closely he could see scars he’d never before noticed on his otherwise unblemished skin too: a small one cutting through the high arc of his eyebrow, another splitting down the side of his lower lip. And that was just what he could see, what he had the time to visibly catalogue with Izaya looking at him like Shizuo was the most exciting thing this prison had had to offer since he'd arrived. 

It was a little disconcerting.

“Fancy seeing you here, Shizu-chan.” As Shizuo’s frown drew further down, Izaya’s grin spread the wider, like one was counterbalancing the other. He stalked further forward along the ground, coming in close to where Shizuo was still standing frozen at the start of the hallway. His cell was in sight, maybe only a handful of quick strides away and Shizuo seriously contemplated if he’d get away with sprinting the remaining distance there and locking himself inside. “So, what happened? Finally kill some innocent child caught in the crossfire of one of your ridiculous tantrums?” Izaya’s voice was still as grating and condescending as ever and Shizuo fought tooth and nail to keep himself from pegging the book still in his hand at the centre of Izaya’s head, if only because it’d probably do the book more damage than it would him.

It was just as well Izaya decided to stop a metre or so away from him because if he was any closer Shizuo couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t reach out and throttle the bastard with hands around his neck; his fingers were all but itching for it.

“No,” He grit free from his clenched jaw, not that he could blame Izaya for thinking that. It would have only been a matter of time anyway, he should probably be counting himself lucky he was forced into isolation before he had the chance to do more damage than he already had. He knew he’d already hurt people, some of them innocent, but if Shizuo ever hurt a child like that… he’d never be the same, that was for sure. Shizuo forced himself to take a deep breath through his nose and out of his mouth before speaking. “Same thing that happened to you, probably.”

“Is that so.” Izaya looked thoughtful, and maybe a little bit amused, and before Shizuo could stop himself the thought he’d been fighting into submission since it came to life a week ago finally tumbled free from his mouth. “Or maybe it was you.” He narrowed his eyes with the accusation, tried to get a good enough read on the other’s expression to tell if he was lying.

He didn’t have to look very hard to be able to tell Izaya was surprised. His mouth parted on a huff of disbelieving air at the accusation, like he couldn’t quite fathom how Shizuo had come to such a conclusion. “I’m in prison, Shizu-chan.” He drawled with a flat look, like he was trying to explain something very simple to a very slow child. “I can’t even take a shower without someone staring me down, how the fuck do you I’d have managed that?”

Shizuo didn’t know how to answer that; he didn’t _think_, he just _felt_. Nothing with Izaya ever made logical sense so he had to follow his instinct, trust his gut, and his gut had always told him if something went wrong in his life, Izaya was probably to blame. 

“I’m flattered though,” Izaya continued on without waiting for Shizuo to defend his reasoning. “You’ve always overestimated my willingness to make your life miserable, Shizu-chan.” Izaya began walking again, circling around Shizuo like a vulture circling its prey. Shizuo resisted twisting around to follow his movements when Izaya slipped behind his back only to reappear on his other side. “What a coincidence that after all this time we’d both end up here, destined to fill out the rest of our lives together the same way we started them: trapped in an institution.” Izaya pulled to a stop in front of Shizuo again, let his grin spread wide. “It’ll be just like high school all over again.”

Shizuo’s free hand clenched into a fist; he hated high school, mostly because of the guy standing before him. “Don’t make it sound so poetic,” He tried to ease the pressure in his jaw enough to speak somewhat evenly. “Besides, I’m not spending the rest of my life in here. Not like you.”

Izaya’s grin sharpened at the edges, his eyes narrowed a little bit further. “What is that supposed to mean? I know twenty five years is hardly a literal lifetime but it’s at least all the good stuff gone.”

“I only got eight.” 

Izaya barked a laugh so manic, Shizuo very nearly flinched away from it. His grin vanished like it’d never been there at all, dark brows drawing down low over his face. “You’re kidding me.” He paused, apparently waiting for the punchline to what he thought was a bad joke on Shizuo’s end. “You’ve cost this city millions, probably injured _hundreds._ It’s a miracle you haven’t killed anyone yet.” Izaya sighed like he was trying let the rising irritation in his voice go with it. “I do a few unsavoury deeds and get stuck here forever. That’s more than a little unfair.”

“You planned to murder someone.” Shizuo argued, voice as flat as his glare. “I think that’s deemed a little more than unsavoury.”

Izaya studied Shizuo’s gaze for a moment, for a second he was worried Izaya would ask why he’d bothered to look up his sentence and crimes, but he just glanced away with a shrug. “At least I didn’t do it, that’s got to count for something.” He mumbled with a small pout that did nothing to mask the lack of remorse in his voice.

Despite his best efforts, Shizuo’s fingers tightened around the book in his hand, his shoulders tensed up with the effort of standing still for so long in Izaya’s presence. “Don’t act like you’re a victim.” He growled. “I know I’m no more innocent than you, but at least I’ve accepted that.” Shizuo took a slow step forward, his fiery glare never no much as shifting away from Izaya in front of him. “If you really _are_ as smart as people seem to think you are, you should know that — of all people — _you_ belong here.” Izaya’s eyes narrowed further, his scowl pulled the rest of his face into obvious displeasure, but Shizuo wasn’t finished. “If I’m a menace to society, then you’re the scum of it.” One last step forward brought him less than a metre away. Shizuo let the incoherent anger drain from his voice, let his expression twist out of rage and into something else. For once in his life, he used his height over Izaya to straighten up and look down his nose at him, channeling all the disgust he wanted to convey into more than just his voice. “You deserve this.”

Izaya’s reaction had been a slow descent into anger, his glare hardening and jaw clenching tighter with every word since Shizuo’d started speaking, but his final words — his killing blow — forced a grin so cruel and manic to spread Izaya’s lips, Shizuo only got the memo to back off after Izaya had already lunged at him and made a grab for his clothes.

There wasn’t the knife he’d been half-expecting, or the pointed end of some makeshift shiv, just Izaya’s fingers fisted tight in the front of his navy shirt. He yanked with a strength that Shizuo hadn’t been anticipating, bringing him down so low their faces were inches apart. Shizuo didn’t think he’d ever been this close to Izaya before, close enough to see the few freckles over his nose, or the dark smudge of his lashes casting his eyes into even further darkness. 

“You best watch what you say to me.” Izaya snarled with a surprising amount of venom, his breath coming in warm puffs of air against Shizuo’s lips. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re _both_ stuck here, and this building isn’t all that big.” The smile was gone now, the deranged line of his lips twisted into a sneer intimidating enough for Shizuo to have to ignore his body’s advice to pull back and away from it. “You think I made your life miserable back then, do you really wanna find out how much worse I can do now?”

As Shizuo held Izaya’s unflinching gaze he was struck for a second time how much he’d changed, he’d never once before remembered Izaya threatening him like this, didn’t think he’d even seen him this serious at all. 

Shizuo grit his teeth hard enough to make them creak, fighting the very nearly uncontrollable urge to head butt Izaya into the afterlife. God, he’d never wanted to punch the bastard more than he did now but he had to be smart about this. He couldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ compromise his and his roommate’s already shitty quality of life for the next eight years just for the sake of some immediate gratification right now. He very reluctantly lowered his gaze, shifted it from the fire in Izaya’s eyes to the sneer at his lips in the most obvious act of submission he was sure he’d ever offered to another person since being a small child. 

“No.” He ground out, the rough edge on his voice betraying his body’s actions.

The quick flash of emotions across Izaya’s face would have been very hard to discern individually had Shizuo not been as close as he was. After the initial surprise had both of Izaya’s eyebrows rising at once, Shizuo watched on in confusion as something that looked a hell of a lot like disappointment brought them back down. But before he could study it any further, Izaya was already pulling back and releasing his fist on Shizuo’s shirt with a smile sweet enough to make anyone sick.

He walked back the way Shizuo had come, brushing shoulders as he passed. “Happy reading Shizu-chan.” Shizuo listened to the sound of his footsteps pad along the concrete floor, frowned when they suddenly stopped. “Oh, and I know Shizu-chan’s not a little boy anymore, but be careful around Saito-kun won’t you? Pedophiles just can’t be trusted.” 

Shizuo’s blood turned to ice in his veins, freezing him where he stood. It was only after Izaya had already slipped around the corner of the hallway and out of sight that it melted back to a slow simmering boil, and by then it was too late to lob the book his way after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to have Izaya spoil the book for Shizuo at the end but I've only just started reading 'No Longer Human' and I really didn't want to spoil it for myself too >.<   
I also don't think prisons probably have libraries as luxurious as the one in this story sounds but oh well.
> 
> I hope you are still enjoying the story so far!


	6. Starving For Patience

Shizuo couldn’t focus on his book. 

He’d spent maybe a few minutes laying back on his bed, finding that after his anger had slowly fizzled out, he’d been left with little energy to do anything but sulk. When he’d gone to return to the book he’d almost torn in two during his unpleasant conversation with Izaya, Shizuo couldn’t manage to read more than one paragraph before realising he’d already read that same paragraph two or three times before. When it became obvious he was going to get nowhere, he gave up and shoved the book under his pillow, intent on resuming his previous sulking.

Shizuo should have been more prepared to see Saito again than he was, they were sharing a room after all, he couldn’t very well avoid the man forever, but he still stiffened at the other’s entry. 

“Shizuo,” Saito stepped up close to the bed and peered down into where Shizuo was laid out on it. “The doors for outside are open,” He said, gesturing back with his hand towards the entry to their cell, “We should go.”

Shizuo didn’t really feel like moving or interacting with other human beings; he would have been fine laying where he was if he didn’t know he’d regret not taking the chance to stand under the sun once it was over. “Yeah, fine.” He answered, sitting up from his bed and swinging his legs over the edge. He paused before standing fully. “Saito, can I ask you something?”

Saito shrugged, “Sure.”

“What did you do to get in here?” Shizuo blurted it too quickly and too loud, his reluctancy to ask the question meaning his body had to all but force it out. Saito’s eyes widened slowly but if it was at what Shizuo had said or how he had said it, he couldn’t be sure.

After the initial surprise wore off, Saito huffed a small laugh. “That’s not something you’re supposed to ask people.” 

Shizuo looked down at his hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, prison was no place to be making friends. Everyone here had done something worth getting them inside. “Sorry.” He mumbled.

“No, it’s fine.” Saito hummed, moving to lean against the bed. “The business I was running started going under. I had a lot invested in it; my house, my savings,” Saito paused to frown “University tuition for my kids. It was all on the line. I started cutting some corners and making some shady deals to get back what I could and keep the company from going bankrupt.” Saito smiled wryly, “But I got caught in the end. They charged me with tax fraud.” He shrugged and pushed himself away from the bed. “It’s not something I’m proud of but I think I’m paying my dues. And when I get out I will have definitely learnt my lesson.”

Shizuo nodded slowly; he knew it would be naive of him to take the word of a stranger but he also wasn’t surprised Izaya’d lied to him. He was still a devious little shit and Shizuo should have known he’d have said anything to make his life worse. Saito didn’t ask Shizuo what he’d done to deserve the sharp turn his own life had taken and Shizuo honestly didn’t know what to make of that, even if he _was_ grateful for it. 

Shizuo stood from his bed and made to follow Saito out of the cell, re-tracing the steps they’d taken earlier to find the library and then the dining hall beyond that. The cafeteria was mostly empty, with only a few stragglers occupying otherwise empty tables, but Shizuo could see where the rest of the inmates had migrated, could watch them from the open double doors leading outside.

He immediately walked towards them, carried himself closer to the sunlight streaming in through the windows and reflecting off of the metal cafeteria tables. Shizuo stepped outside and very nearly melted under the relief of feeling heat hit his sun starved skin. He had to take a moment for himself, eyes closed and lips parted on the freshest air he’d been able to breathe for the last twenty four hours. 

Shizuo knew it had only been a day— he’d spent more time confined to the space of his own apartment when he was sick or when the weather was bad — but Shizuo thrived on the sun and the trees and all the things that gave him peace and kept him calm. In his line of work, he’d usually find himself spending most of the day outside and it was a relief that he’d still get to indulge in it for at least a small portion of his time here.

Shizuo opened his eyes to gaze out at the their designated ‘play space’. It wasn’t very big — the majority of the area being taken up by a concrete court with basketball hoops either end — but their was more space around the court for inmates to loiter and, further back, along the line of the tall, wired fence enclosing the yard, Shizuo could see short trimmed grass. He headed towards it at once, ignoring the other inmates passing the ball on the court or sitting at picnic tables on asphalt. In his periphery, he could see Saito struggle to catch up with him. 

As soon as Shizuo stepped onto the grass he made for the side of the prison building and sat down to lean against it, fighting with the uncontrollable urge to take his shoes off and plant his bare feet in the grass under him. 

Saito slid down the bricks beside him. “This is where I usually sit,” He said, trying to make himself comfortable against the wall. “It’s out of the way but still gives you a great view of everything that’s going on.

Shizuo studied his own view. He could see most of the outside space from where he was, had the ability to watch inmates interact from a safe enough distance. There were more than a few people smoking, Shizuo had been able to smell it the moment he’d stepped outside, but the guard standing by one corner of the yard paid it no mind; it made Shizuo wonder what else went on here they paid little mind to. There was a game being played on the basketball court, people were yelling and calling out names, but Shizuo only shifted his attention to it after he heard a specific name being called. 

Izaya had the length of his pants rolled up mid-calf, he dodged and danced around around other players with the ball in hand. Shizuo watched him pass the ball and catch it again like he’d been playing on the same team for more than a year and not a month. Once the ball reached the end of the court Izaya caught it with enough time to leap into the air and latch onto the hoop with one hand and use his other to bring it down and through the metal circle.

Izaya’s teammates cheered when he dropped back to his feet, handing out high fives that he received with a smile. 

_Of course people love him here_, he thought to himself. _Birds of a fucking feather and all that._ He supposed it _wasn’t_ that much different to high school; Izaya had been popular back then too.

Shizuo let his gaze drift from one inmate to the next as they restarted their game, searching for the face of the number one man he’d been ordered to steer clear from. He found him eventually, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded over his chest and his attention focused on the game in front of him. Shizuo wasn’t sure if when his eyes moved to follow the game, it was tracking the ball or one of the players, and he didn’t look long enough to find out. Shizuo slumped further into the wall behind him and closed his eyes, ready to spend the next hour or so basking in the heat of the sun.

He was very disappointed when someone interrupted him.

Of course he knew prison life was hardly going to be any more peaceful than the one he’d had outside of it, but surely he deserved _some_ respite, just a short stretch of time to keep his eyes closed and his body warm. 

Shizuo opened his eyes at the dull thud of footsteps falling along the grass. When he looked up, it was to find a small group of inmates walking toward him with dark eyes and superior smirks. Beside him, Saito quickly stumbled to his feet and pressed his back against the wall they’d been leaning against, like if he tried hard enough he might be able to blend right into it. Shizuo pushed himself up with a little bit more grace, moving slow enough to show he wasn’t in the least bit intimidated by the group’s advance. 

By the time he was standing straight, the inmates had all stopped before him like a particularly ugly flock of sheep. The one leading the flock stepped out from the rest and made his way forward, coming to stand close enough for Shizuo to see the gaps in his teeth when he talked. “Fresh meat.” He greeted, like that was any greeting at all, and took another step closer, running his gaze up and down the length of Shizuo’s body. “Someone told me you’re pretty tough, but you don’t look like much,” He lamented to himself. “Tell me, were you a host?” The stranger hummed under his breath, “Or a prostitute maybe?”

Shizuo scowled, what the fuck kind of a question was that? Was he seriously expected to answer? His hands curled into fists at his sides, but before he could decide what he was going to do with the them, the man before him jolted with a gasp. “Aha! I know!” His eyes spread as wide as his smile and he brought a finger up to point at Shizuo like he’d just had an epiphany. “You look just like that famous actor on TV, Yuuhei Hana-something. Different hair but definitely the same face!”

Shizuo grit his teeth. _God_, how much was he expected to put up with before it became okay for him to explode and beat the shit out of someone with their own arm. Shizuo was quickly coming to realise he had a lot less patience for people than he was hoping he would. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He ground out through his clenched jaw.

The stranger’s smile twisted into an angry snarl. “What, you think I’m an idiot or something?” He growled. Shizuo didn’t think the man really wanted him to answer that, but he wasn’t waiting for one anyway. The inmate brought his clenched fist up from his side and propelled it forward with a course set for Shizuo’s face.

Shizuo caught it before it could travel far, his hand closing around the others wrist with reflexive ease. The stranger’s movement stopped, and Shizuo glanced out at the unnerving quiet he’d only just realised had settled over the space. 

The basketball game had stopped, its players paused to stand still over the court and offer their attention to Shizuo instead. Almost everyone outside and within his range of view had stopped what they were doing to stare at him and the inmate’s wrist he held in his hand. Shizuo’s gaze faltered over Izaya, the only one pairing the unbridled curiosity in his eyes with a smile big enough to be seen even over the distance they had between them. Shizuo felt the bones of the wrist in his hand creak and the man before him jerk, but he stopped just short of breaking them. He pulled his attention away from Izaya’s irritating smile and focused on the inmate that had attacked him instead.

“I _said_ I didn’t know.” He grumbled, throwing the other man’s hand back at him with enough force for it to smack him in the chest. “Stop trying to pick a fight.”

The man clutched his hand to his chest and rubbed at the red print of Shizuo’s fingers around his wrist. He looked pissed, and maybe a little confused, but he must have felt the power brimming at the edges of Shizuo’s barely kept control because he backed off, taking a step away from where he’d closed in on Shizuo before quickly turning around to head back towards his group of followers. 

Shizuo sighed relief at his departure and tried to stifle his sudden craving for one of the cigarettes he could still smell people smoking. He slumped back to the ground and listened to Saito slowly do the same, not bothering to check and see if he was still being watched. He hoped that exchange was enough for anyone to think twice about approaching for at _least_ the next hour; he couldn’t promise himself the next hand he intercepted he wouldn’t crush to pieces.


	7. Wash, Rinse, Repeat

No one approached Shizuo for the remaining time he had left outside. He’d let himself slump into what minimal comfort the concrete wall behind him had to offer and closed his eyes to the world without ever really sleeping; he had a feeling he’d be learning to sleep with one eye open from now on.

When the sun began to dip closer towards the horizon and Shizuo opened his eyes again to find everything bathed in a golden glow, the guards began calling inmates inside so they could lock the doors on the only place in the prison Shizuo thought had anything remotely beautiful about it. He was reluctant to pull himself away from the setting sun and the grass under him. The temperature had dropped as time pulled itself closer to evening, but where Shizuo was sitting the light shining through the wire fence was splaying itself over his features and the concrete behind him, warming his body and leaving him comfortable enough to be in danger of actually falling asleep. He thought about asking if he could stay outside for the night and then thought better of it — even Shizuo wasn’t sure he’d survive a night out in the cold without getting some sort of sick.

Shizuo followed Saito back inside and listened to the guards lock the doors behind them. Saito had remained just as silent as Shizuo for the hours they’d been sat in the sun, no comments or questions regarding the short confrontation he’d been privy to, and Shizuo was grateful for it. It was only as they continued to follow the flux of people out of the cafeteria and down an adjacent hallway that Shizuo thought to speak.

“Where are we going?” He asked, eyeing the other inmates headed for the same direction. 

“Showers,” Saito answered plainly, continuing to walk without any of the panic Shizuo could feel quickly rising in him at the other’s explanation.

He thought about turning back and forgoing the act of showering after all, leaving the sticky film brought on by stress and discomfort to go on clinging to his skin; but Shizuo knew that if he avoided it now, he’d do his best avoiding it forever and that was not a habit he could afford to fall into. Better to get it over with and force himself to adjust just like everyone else.

The shower room was almost as big as the the dining hall. Long, low standing concrete walls ran down the middle of the room with shower heads and no handles plumbed into either side at every metre or so. There was no privacy as far as he could see, the showers were positioned too close together and there were no walls to separate them. Shizuo filed into the room with the rest of the inmates and followed the guard’s orders to find a place in one of the lines and stand there like cattle in a stable.

He hesitated in stripping down like everyone else. Saito paused beside him in pulling his shirt over his head turn and stare at Shizuo instead. “They don’t turn the showers on until everyone is undressed,” He said expectantly.

“Okay,” Shizuo answered, and began undressing as slowly and discreetly as he could in a room filled with more than fifty other people. He knew it was stupid to be feeling so self conscious when everyone else had no obvious problem being naked in front of strangers, but Shizuo had never felt more uncomfortable. He faced the wall in front of him as he undressed, slipping off his socks and his shoes, pulling his shirt up over his head and his pants down off his legs to hang them over the wall and away from the soon to be spray of water. Once all of Shizuo’s skin was left bare to the echoing space of the shower room, he crossed his arms over his chest and stood waiting under the shower head. He kept his eyes forward and away from anyone else; mostly because he didn’t want to turn and find people staring at him, because he didn’t know what he’d do if he _did._

The low rumble of pipes starting up throughout the building caught Shizuo off guard, he flinched as all the shower heads came to life with a stuttering spray of cold water. He stepped back and away from it, instinct forcing his shoulders to hunch in on the uncomfortable cold, but when Shizuo chanced a glance to either side he saw no one else had done the same. Inmates were stepping closer to the spray without flinching, letting themselves stand under the water without so much as a grimace. 

Shizuo waited half a minute, and then another, pleading for the water to warm even slightly before he was forced to stand under it and use what time he had left to clean his body. When it became obvious the temperature probably wasn’t going to change before the pipes shut themselves off, Shizuo stepped under the water with a shiver. Icy pinpricks rained down over his skin, but Shizuo ignored it. He grabbed the bottle of generic body wash sat on a small shelf in the wall — grateful it was a bottle and not a bar — and pumped the liquid into his hands to lather it over his body in rough, hurried strokes. He used the same soap in his hair, massaging it into the strands before stepping back under the water to close his eyes and rinse it free.

Shizuo could hear people yelling down the line, arguing over something he had no interest in, but when let his head shift fully under the spray of the shower it all drowned out to leave his hearing muffled for the water rushing over his head and down past his ears. The cold just intensified the sensation, set all his nerves alight and stifled his thought to the point where it was almost pleasant. He was just as unprepared for the water to turn off as he was when it came on, it pulled him from his meditative effort with a flinch and no warning.

Shizuo wiped the wet from his eyes so he could open them properly. When he looked over his shoulder he could see guards walking down the aisle to throw a towel at each inmate standing in line; Shizuo caught his just shy of it falling to hit the wet concrete under him. He eagerly wrapped the towel around his shoulders like he used to when he was a kid, trying to capture what warmth he could and press it back into his shivering body. Shizuo ran the towel along his arms, over his torso, and then quickly through his hair before wrapping it tight around his waist and shielding the lower half of his body from view while he changed back into his uniform. It felt strange changing into old clothes after just showering, but Shizuo didn’t have much of a choice. He pulled his pants and underwear into place under the towel and then slipped his shirt over his head. After pulling the towel from his hips and running it through his hair once more, Shizuo followed everyone else’s league in throwing it over the low standing wall in front of them and leaving it there.

The guards ordered them to step out from under the showers and file out of the room the same way they’d filed in. Shizuo hurried to slide still damp feet into his shoes and socks and then follow the people around him all the way back to the closed doors they’d come through, slowing to a stop as everyone waited patiently for the guards to step through the crowd and key in the code for the doors to unlock.

Every muscle in Shizuo’s body tensed at the touch to his shoulder, the grip of someone’s hand pressing tight over the bone where his arm met the rest of his body, but he stopped short of swinging out to hit them and turned his stiff neck to look down at them instead. 

Izaya’s hair was still wet and pushed back from his forehead, bearing more of his face to Shizuo’s view than he was used to seeing. His eyes were brighter than usual too, sharp and glowing just as much as the split of his grin. When he used his grip at Shizuo’s shoulder to lean up and tip his mouth closer to the other’s ear, it was only by a great strength of will that Shizuo kept himself from flinching back and into the safety of distance. 

Izaya huffed a short breath that Shizuo could feel burn like fire against the edge of his ear and only distantly recognised as a laugh after the fact. “I didn’t take you to be so self-conscious,” He murmured, too close to Shizuo’s skin, “Are you really that afraid of other people watching you?” He asked, but it must have been rhetorical because he left no time for Shizuo answer had he even had one planned. “Don’t worry,” Izaya whispered again, “Shizu-chan has a nice ass.” Shizuo grit his teeth so hard he thought — as close as Izaya was — he should have heard them creak. He could feel his face heating up, from embarrassment at having been watched like he’d feared or anger that Izaya was mocking him for it, he wasn’t entirely sure. 

Shizuo’s arm at his side tensed further, the fingers on his hand curled into a fist ready to shove Izaya away by force, and then the hand at his shoulder tightened with inconceivable pressure, Izaya’s fingers dug deep into muscle and under the bone making up Shizuo’s collar, using pinpoint accuracy to lance a sharp flare of pain down his arm and along his back. Shizuo whipped his head around to stare down at Izaya beside him, bringing the other’s too close face squarely into view. Izaya’s eyes were darker now, his smile flattened into a smirk. “Don’t drop the soap, Shizu-chan,” He warned, with one last push into the tender point at Shizuo’s shoulder that had him struggling not to grimace. Izaya released his hold and drew back his hand, pushing away from Shizuo and turning to make for the front of the line without so much as a complaint from the rest of the inmates already there. 

Only once he was sure Izaya had disappeared into the front of the crowd with no chance of turning back did Shizuo lift his hand to rub at the sore spot on his shoulder, where Izaya had managed to bring him pain without the sharp edge of a knife. The doors to the room finally opened with an electronic buzz and Shizuo shuffled out with everyone else, slow in his steps as Izaya’s words repeated themselves in his head. 

Was it a warning, was it a threat? Coming from Izaya, it was probably both. But no matter how high Izaya had dragged himself up the food chain, how rough he’d sharpened his edges, Shizuo could still protect himself from him and anyone else that threw themselves his way; and Izaya had to know that better than most people here, so the only other option was that he’d been trying to freak Shizuo out, trying to make him feel uncomfortable because that had always been where he aimed his shots. Izaya had a target for Shizuo’s insecurities and he hit each one of them with unflinching accuracy every fucking time, even now that hadn’t changed. 

Maybe he hadn’t even been watching Shizuo, maybe he just knew that pretending he had would set him on edge, that filling his head with other people’s depravity would make his own self consciousness worse. “Fuckin’ asshole,” Shizuo muttered to himself on the way out of the room and down through the hall.

“Who?”

Shizuo startled at the sound of someone else’s voice so close and twisted back to glare daggers at whoever had thought it was a good idea to sneak up on him after Izaya just had, but when he turned to face behind him it was only Saito stepping through the line to walk at Shizuo’s side. “Nothing,” Shizuo mumbled, letting only some of the tension bleed out of his body and facing forward to continue following the lead of guards and other inmates back to the dining hall. 

Dinner looked just as appealing as breakfast had, which was _not very_; Shizuo let the workers in the kitchen spoon food onto his plate but his appetite was still very much missing, and he knew before so much as glancing at it that he wouldn’t be eating tonight. Saito still dragged him down into a seat at the same table they’d been sitting at this morning and pushed Shizuo’s plate across the surface closer to his body like that would make it look any more enticing. Shizuo was struggling to keep facing forward when all the muscles in his body were telling him to turn around and watch Izaya some way off behind him. He told himself it was a survival instinct too deeply ingrained into his body to ignore. It wasn’t right to turn his back on Izaya; he always had to be watched because he was always up to something, and assuming he wasn’t would be Shizuo’s ultimate downfall.

“You’re really hung up on that guy,” Saito spoke around a mouthful of food. Shizuo turned back to face the other man from where he’d been angling his head to steal a glance over his shoulder without too obviously turning around. 

“What? I’m not _hung up on him._ He’s _dangerous_, I’m just keeping an eye on him so the next time he tries to ruin my life I’ll be ready for it,” He explained.

Saito’s stare was as flat as his mouth. “You’re in _prison_,” He argued. “Is there really anything he can do to make your life worse?”

Shizuo frowned at Saito and then down at his plate of food. “I’m sure he’ll find a way,” He muttered, picking up his plastic spork and dragging it through what looked like beans and meat bathed in a watered down sauce on his plate before him, watching the way the food parted and moved around his motion as the only distraction he could think to muster. If he listened intently Shizuo thought he could hear Izaya’s voice every so often, over the buzz of the other inmates talking.

“You need to eat.”

The sound of Saito speaking again pulled Shizuo from his focus on catching what he thought could have been the high pitch lilt of Izaya’s laugh. Shizuo looked up from where he’d been staring at but not really _seeing_ his food and met the other man’s unimpressed gaze. “I’m still not hungry,” He mumbled. “And this hardly counts as food anyway.” Shizuo spooned up a pile of the slop before tipping his wrist to the side and letting it fall back to the plate with a plop just to prove his point. Shizuo was no stranger to neglecting his body’s needs as far as food went, a good majority of his diet had been made up of packet ramen and convenience store meals, but this looked like it’d do more damage than it would good to even Shizuo’s stronger than usual body. Just because he could shake off baseball bats and throw vending machines halfway down the block didn’t mean his digestive system could put up as good a fight as the rest of his body; and stuck in the place that he was, Shizuo didn’t think he was willing to risk testing that theory and finding out.

“It’s better than starving to death,” Saito tried to argue. Shizuo wasn’t entirely sure about that but he held his tongue anyway, instead going back to swirling his food around on his plate and trying not to gag at the thought of eating it. He just wanted to go back to bed and read his book until he fell asleep, he just wanted to escape what felt like his own very personal sort of hell; and if he couldn’t bring himself to do it physically, the next best thing was to do it metaphorically, to so throughly lose himself in something other than his present reality that he could go for long periods of time forgetting where he was at all. 

Because it was better than facing the truth; after what little time he’d spent trapped here, Shizuo had already come to a few reluctant conclusions:

Prison was making him sick. Everything about it, the thought of eating or showering or interacting with other people, it was all twisting his stomach so violently all he could think about was how he felt sick. 

Prison was making him tired. Despite doing almost nothing all day, Shizuo felt more exhausted than ever. The constant anxiety thrumming through his veins everywhere he went was leaving him with a bone deep exhaustion Shizuo was sure another night in the too small, too uncomfortable beds here wouldn’t fix. 

Most of all, prison was making him _lonely_. Shizuo was no stranger to self isolation. He’d spent most of his life feeling alone, but never quite like this. He knew he was lucky to have Saito, lucky to have his strength, but Shizuo missed his friends, his family, his _things_. It had only been a day and Shizuo already missed every part of his old life so much it left him all but aching. 

He couldn’t quite stomach the thought that this was it for him, everyday was going to be the same as today had been. This was now the extent of variety his life had to offer: eat, sleep, read, wash, rinse and repeat. How did people do this for so long, how did they keep themselves from going insane?

_How am I supposed to spend the next eight years here, starving, cold and alone? What kind of a life would that be?_

Shizuo guessed Shinra was right in that Izaya had it worse. After one day, eight years seemed so impossible, seemed like there may as well have been no end in sight, but Shizuo knew that logically there _was_. Eight years was very little compared to Izaya’s twenty five, compared to what practically accounted for the rest of his _life_. It may have looked like Izaya was already fairing miles better than Shizuo was here, that he’d assimilated as seamlessly as Shizuo was sure he could anywhere, but there was only so long someone could adhere to this routine without complaint, only so long someone like Izaya — with a brain Shizuo knew was as brilliant as it was volatile — could handle such a mundane existence before breaking. Out of everyone here, he knew Izaya would be the first to crack. 

Shizuo would feel sorry for him if he didn’t hate him so much.


	8. Jealousy's A Bad Colour On You

Shizuo slept worse on his second night than he had on his first.

He found it hard to understand how it was possible for someone to be so tired and yet still have so much trouble falling asleep. He opened his eyes to the realisation that he’d officially spent one full day and night in this place, that from now on started the routine he would be following for the next eight years. 

The cells got cold at night. The thin sheets and even the blanket atop them did little to insulate Shizuo’s body while he slept. When the cell lights flickered to life, Shizuo bared some hope that they might provide warmth. They didn’t, and they were too bright to let Shizuo close his eyes and go back to sleep so he pulled himself from the bed and planted his bare feet on the cold concrete under him. He’d gotten a second change of clothes last night, exactly the same as the ones he was already wearing but clean and fresh. As soon as Shizuo stepped out of bed he change into them, shedding the weight of the clothes he’d already worn for one day and two nights now. He already felt a little better wearing something clean and Shizuo wondered how he was supposed to go about washing his old set; he’d have to ask Saito once he was up.

Shizuo brushed his teeth and washed his face and then waited on the edge of his bed for the cell gate to open. Once it did, with a loud buzz and clatter of movement on metal, Shizuo stood once more. The sound mustn’t have been enough to rouse Saito from sleep because the other man barely moved in his bed. Shizuo let him be and instead turned to leave his cell and wonder down the hall. 

It felt good to stretch his legs, walking around outside of his cell didn’t make him feel quite as trapped as laying alone in his bed did. Shizuo let his gaze run over the open cells to his left as he walked; a few were empty but most held inmates either getting dressed or still curled up under the covers. Shizuo’s steps came to a stop as he spotted someone using the metal bar spanning the width of their cell and welded into either either side of the walls near the roof as a pull up bar. Shizuo’d seen the same bar in his own cell and most of the others but hadn’t put together its exact purpose until now, if that even was its purpose. 

The person had their shirt off and tossed to the ground so Shizuo could see the muscles in their back flex and strain with each pull of their arms lifting the entire weight of their body, legs crossed at the ankles, off the ground. It was an impressive feat, the only people Shizuo’d seen lift themselves so fast and consecutively without compromising the quality of each pull was himself and some of the men in the gym he used to go to, before he’d realised even their most difficult equipment crumpled like paper under his too strong grip. It cost a lot more than paper to replace though, Shizuo’d learnt that the hard way. 

The person must have felt Shizuo’s eyes on his turned back because they very suddenly dropped to the ground after their next pull and turned to look over their shoulder. 

Shizuo didn’t know how he hadn’t recognised Izaya as soon as he’d seen the dark hair and pale skin. A few months ago and he’d have recognised the smell of him after stepping out onto a street he’d just left, Shizuo wondered how that had changed so much since he’d gotten here, and if it had more to do with _him_ or Izaya. It was the muscly back and broader shoulders, he thought. They were throwing him off every time he so much as glanced in his direction. 

Izaya was breathing hard, his bare chest heaving as he turned to face Shizuo, and then he smirked, and the sharp spread of it was so familiar it finally did what the rest of his appearance hadn’t done and flickered a bright spark of what he assumed must be hate deep down in his chest, the one that always used to come with immediate recognition.

Shizuo’s brows furrowed, his mouth twisted into a scowl at the other’s smile, and he finally turned on his feet and continued walking down the hall and away from Izaya’s cell before that spark could take light. _God_, he was so _infuriating_. Shizuo thought he must have matured a great deal since high school because Izaya was just as slimy, just as goddamn irritating and Shizuo had already managed on multiple occasions what he’d never been able to do once during his teenage years: walk away from him, be the better person, smother that spark.

_But how long is that gonna last?_ Dealing with Izaya took a lot of effort, a lot of patience, everything Shizuo’d done so far had been done through great strength of will more than anything else. He had a feeling that if any place could drain him of his will, it was this one.

Shizuo kept walking until he found himself at the cafeteria, ever so slowly filling up with inmates as they stumbled out of bed and made their way down the hall. Shizuo took a seat at one of the empty tables without lining up for food and watched the sun shine in from the small window leading outside. He wondered what his friends would be doing right about now; Tom and Vorona might be just starting the rounds, Kasuka could be at some studio working on a film, Shinra and Celty were probably making breakfast. 

Shizuo wondered if anyone missed him. 

The cafeteria was mostly filled by now, when Shizuo looked up and away from the window to watch the last of the stragglers find their way in, he saw that Saito was one of them. He had his head hung low and walked like he could barely manage the weight of his own dragging feet. When he raised his head to accept a tray of food, Shizuo could see his faced looked ashen and his under eyes were dark. He looked sick. 

Shizuo watched the other man stumble around tables to get to Shizuo’s own. He was looking down as he walked, watching his feet pass over the ground under him like he was trying to keep his balance, and so only Shizuo was able to see another inmate walking too close in the opposite direction, and the oncoming collision that would take place without Saito’s ability to dodge him. Their shoulders clipped, Saito’s body jerked, and the tray he was holding slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground, food falling to make a mess of the other inmate’s and his own clothes.

The dining hall fell to complete silence, all heads in the room turned to watch what Shizuo knew they were hoping would turn into a fight.

Saito stumbled away from the inmate, stammering apologies as he made to put as much distance between himself and the angry tension building across the line of the other inmate’s shoulders that Shizuo only recognized because he knew it so well. The man whirled on Saito with a growl Shizuo could hear from where he was sitting. When the inmate stepped forward – too quickly for Saito to stumble back – and fisted a hand in the front of the other’s shirt, Shizuo pushed himself up from his seat and strode across the room.

The thump of his feet felt too loud in the otherwise silent space, but the man in front of him must have been too clouded with rage to hear much else; Shizuo could relate to that too. He made it to the inmate’s side just as the other man was winding his fist back; when he reached out to place a firm hand on his shoulder, the motion of the man’s hand stalled midair and he jerked his angry gaze away from Saito to Shizuo next to him instead.

“Leave him alone,” Shizuo ordered, tightening his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Can’t you see he’s sick?” He jerked his head in the direction of Saito’s pale face and shaky shoulders, still caught in the larger inmate’s grip.

To Shizuo’s, and definitely Saito’s, great relief, the man released his hold on Saito’s shirt and let him fall to the ground, where he scrambled to his feet and immediately moved to take refuge behind Shizuo, but the relief was short lived when the inmate turned to fully face him instead, the hand he’d had around Saito’s shirt replacing itself to fist the front of Shizuo’s.

The man tugged Shizuo closer with a surprising amount of strength, when he spoke Shizuo cringed at the breath blowing hot over his face. “And what the fuck are you supposed to be, huh? His guardian angel?” Shizuo let his hand on the man’s shoulder drop, he couldn’t take a deep breath with the other’s face so close so he settled for curling his fists at his side instead. “You’re certainly pretty enough to be one, aren’t you?”

What was it with people calling him _pretty_ here? Was everyone really that deprived? No one had once called him pretty before he’d been tossed in here, not even his parents as a child. He thought it probably wasn’t supposed to be a compliment.

“Let go of me.” Shizuo grit out from between his clenched teeth. He didn’t want this, starting a fight on his second day was the last thing he needed, but he had a feeling this guy’s ego wouldn’t let their situation be resolved by anything other than violence.

Shizuo _hated_ violence.

The man laughed, baring his ugly, yellow teeth, and Shizuo thought about how much he’d love to knock them out and spread them all over the floor. “Okay,” The man drawled, smile predatory, “But then I want you to get on your knees and suck my big fat cock in front of everyone here.”

Shizuo saw red. His hands were trembling with the effort of keeping them still. His blood was pounding so hard, he felt like any second now and it’d be pouring out of his ears. But he could be calm, he could be reasonable. He wasn’t an animal like some people claimed. Shizuo lifted his hand to curl it around the inmate’s outstretched wrist.

“_Let. Me. Go._” He repeated himself, each word short and clipped with the effort it was taking him to speak and not yell.

The man laughed again, like Shizuo had just told a funny joke. “You don’t scar-”

Shizuo tightened his hand around the other’s wrist - with much more force than what he’d offered the man who’d confronted him yesterday - and the inmate cut himself off with a scream. Shizuo could hear just as well as he could feel the bones crunching and cracking under his grip, they may as well have been meringue for with which the ease he felt them shatter. 

When the man jerked back to pull his arm free, Shizuo let him go, and watched on in sick satisfaction as he cradled his limp and broken wrist to his chest. He didn’t feel very bad, he _did_ say the next wrist he intercepted wouldn’t make it back to its owner in one piece.

“What the _fuck?!_” The man yelled, shrill and desperate with agony, “You’re a goddamn _monster_.”

Shizuo flinched at the insult. The inmate fell back on his ass in his haste to get away and Shizuo watched as two guards that had been conspicuously missing during the altercation came out to pull the man to his feet and drag him off in the direction of what he assumed was the infirmary. One of them had a taser ready in their grip but Shizuo just took a step back and raised his hands in the air to make his submission obvious. He’d only ever been tasered once, when he was still in high school, but the experience was memorable enough that he had no plans of ever letting it happen again.

When the guards were far from view and know one else came to try and drag him away for punishment, Shizuo let his hands drop back to his side and reluctantly turned to face Saito behind him. His mistake was lingering in his movement and letting himself catch the stares of almost every other person in the room. They were all looking at him, most a mix of curiosity, surprise, and some thinly veiled disgust, but only one stood out from the rest, because only one person looked _angry_. Shizuo stared at Izaya, at his dark eyes and darker scowl, but he wasn’t staring back like Shizuo assumed he would be, Izaya’s attention was on Saito, his fiery glare all but burning into the shaky man beside him. It only lasted a moment, maybe two, and then Izaya tore his gaze away to meet Shizuo’s instead, anger just as hot, and Shizuo had to force himself to look away and continue turning to face Saito beside him. 

“You okay?” Shizuo asked, and Saito nodded slowly. 

“Thanks,” He said, smiling warily, “I really thought he was gonna kill me.”

Shizuo huffed, “Yeah, well, just be more careful next time,” He warned, and then walked back to the table he’d stood from to take his seat once more. Anger was still simmering at the surface of his skin, as did something that felt a lot like shame, the burn of so many stares making him feel like he was back in elementary school. But above all else, Shizuo had a _bad_ feeling. It frustrated him beyond belief that it was always Izaya, catching his attention out of a crowd and filling his thoughts with perpetual paranoia, even when they weren’t interacting it felt like the bastard never left him alone. Maybe that was why when they did interact, Shizuo exploded the way he did.

But as he rested his head in his hand, elbow pressed to the steel table beneath him, Shizuo couldn’t shake the heat of Izaya’s stare, couldn’t stop the slow swirl of nausea making itself at home in his stomach. Though he supposed he’d just found another thing that hadn’t changed either:

Izaya was the very epitome of a _bad feeling. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a while to get out and that it wasn't much, just a bit of setting up for future events. I promise i'll try harder to write more for this and post them quicker >.<


	9. Reap What You Sow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning for some graphic descriptions of blood gore in this one. I thinks it's probably pretty mild but I figured I'd let you know anyway.

Saito disappeared to their cell almost as soon as breakfast was over. He left with the excuse that he needed to rest and turned down Shizuo’s offer to walk him back. Shizuo bid him goodbye and wished him a quick recovery, hoped that whatever illness was turning him pale and making him weak faded with a few hours of rest, and prayed to god it wasn’t contagious.

He spent some time in the library, starting a new book even though he had yet to get halfway through his last one. The book he’d pulled from the shelf this time was different, pictures and facts instead of long lines of literature. It was about space, some kind of educational dictionary, and Shizuo spent the next handful of hours learning what black holes were, and how many light years it’d take to travel to another galaxy. When he was finished with the book, he approached the grumpy guard sitting on the other side of the counter and asked if he knew of any similar ones he could read. The guard printed him a list, and it took Shizuo the next half hour to track down where the books had been misplaced along the shelves. 

There were only five, but Shizuo piled every one of them in his arms and then dropped them onto the counter for the guard to scan into the system. The clock over the library wall told him he’d missed lunch again and his stomach growled defiantly at the thought; Shizuo gently reminded it what was probably on the menu and it went back to shifting uncomfortably. 

He hadn’t realised how much time he’d spent reading until he stepped out of the library to find another guard waiting there, hurrying him into the hallway and telling him to make his way outside. Shizuo asked if he could make a stop at his cell and put down the pile of books in his arms, but the guard shook his head no, and the glare he was burning into the back of Shizuo's head convinced him not to argue.

Shizuo set his books down on one of the cafeteria tables instead, before making his way outside and under the sun. He took a seat in the same spot he had last time, bathing in the light with one eye open and listening to shuffle of the basketball player’s shoes. He hadn’t seen Izaya on the way out and made no effort to look for him now. He didn’t like that he was still so fixated on the other man’s whereabouts, but he told himself it was a safety concern and therefore justified.

It was another number of long, lazy minutes ’till Shizuo realised Saito still hadn’t made it outside — despite his insistence of its importance and that it was apparently compulsory. He thought something must have been seriously wrong with him if almost an entire day of sleep hadn’t given him enough energy to get out of bed. Shizuo stood from his spot on the grass and against the prison wall with the intention of sacrificing some of his precious outdoor time to go back inside and check on his friend. 

The guard manning the door wasn’t the same one that’d escorted him outside and Shizuo was grateful for as much. He still looked suspicious when he explained to him why he wanted to leave, didn’t ease his glare until Shizuo promised he’d only be a couple of minutes and that they could come get him if he wasn’t back by then. The guard eventually let him pass with a nod of his head and Shizuo immediately stepped back inside, grabbed his pile of books from the cafeteria table, and headed back down the halls towards his cell.

As soon as Shizuo made it to the open gate, he knew something was wrong. There was a bad smell filling the room, winding itself through the air and trailing out into the hall. It was familiar, the way it clung to the back of his throat, even if he couldn’t quite give a name to it yet. Saito was still in bed, facing away from Shizuo and wrapped in thin sheets and blankets. Shizuo placed his books on the concrete floor just inside their cell and tipped his shoulder to lean against the open gate.

“Hey,” He called, loud enough to be concerned when he was only met with silence. Saito didn’t so much as shift under his blankets, and Shizuo pushed away from his casual lean at the gate to step inside the room instead. “Saito,” He said, with a little more force this time. “Dude, you okay?”

The smell grew stronger as Shizuo came closer, invading his nostrils and layering itself over his tongue, and all of a sudden he was very much aware of what he was smelling, what he was _tasting_, the recognition hit him like a baseball bat to the back of his head.

Blood. It was blood; sharp and metallic and biting, and incredibly familiar even if Shizuo had never smelt it so strong, had never witnessed it with such potency.

This time, when Shizuo opened his mouth to speak he reached out to shake Saito’s shoulder too, voice laced with urgency and grip strong with concern. _“Saito.”_ He growled, only growing more panicked as he was met with no response of any kind. Shizuo tightened his grip and pulled at Saito’s shoulder, tipping him from his side onto his back, and then immediately released his grip to stumble away, and bring the same hand up to cover his mouth and stifle his gag.

_“Fuck!”_ He shouted from behind the cover of his hand, shrill and muffled by the desperate grip of his own fingers over his jaw. He was breathing too hard, the sharp spike of adrenaline had kicked his lungs into overdrive and now it was making him feel sick, the way every breath of tainted air burnt the back of his throat and made his eyes sting. 

There was so much blood, more than Shizuo honestly thought one person was capable of producing. With Saito tipped onto his back, Shizuo could clearly see the way the sheets and blankets over him were soaked to dark red. His lips were parted and his eyes were closed like he was still sleeping, but there was blood smeared over his face too. Shizuo couldn’t look away, and after a moment, he took a careful step back towards the bed and reached out with shaking hands to pull the heavy, wet blankets away from Saito’s body. The blood had soaked through to his clothes too, turning the once navy of his shirt and the top of his pants dark brown. Shizuo let his gaze travel up Saito’s body to his face, and the long, open slash marring the other’s pale neck.

Shizuo swallowed. The wound looked like it had long since stopped bleeding, Shizuo would have been surprised if there was even a drop of blood left in the other’s still body, but he reached a hand out anyway, and pressed his fingers to the side of the other’s neck, just under his jaw. There was no sign of a pulse and Saito’s skin was very cold, like he hadn’t just been bundled in blankets. Shizuo pulled back his red slick hand and let it drop to his side. It must have happened a while ago, Shizuo thought to himself with a surprising amount of coherency, for his body to have bled itself dry from the gash in his throat and then cooled to something like the steel frame of their shared bunk bed. Shizuo wondered if it’d happened while he was in the library, or outside. He wondered if, had he cared to check earlier, he could have prevented the other man from having his throat slit in his sleep. He wondered if Saito suffered.

He probably had.

Shizuo brought his fist up to rub at his eyes still stinging from the smell of the blood, and then, only afterwards, remembered his wet hand. He immediately tried to scrub at his face with his wrist, but assumed he was only succeeding in further smudging the red across his skin. Shizuo stood still beside Saito’s dead body for a few moments, at a complete loss for what to do. His hands and face were covered in blood now, and he knew he probably looked the killer everyone already thought he was. If he called for help there’d be no time for him to plead his case, they’d assume the worst before he even had a chance. 

But he couldn’t just leave Saito here, someone would find out eventually anyway and he’d still be the first suspect. Shizuo wondered if he was a bad person for caring about how guilty he looked when he was standing before the dead body of someone he might have tentatively called a friend. 

Shizuo turned on his feet and began to walk out of his cell and back down the halls on stiff legs. He felt a little dizzy, and he couldn’t quite even his breaths, but he kept moving anyway, back into the cafeteria and across the space to the door leading outside. There was someone guarding the door from the inside this time, the man Shizuo remembered escorting him from the library, and he immediately looked up as Shizuo came forward. 

Shizuo’s bloody hands were lax and unresisting at his sides, but the guard still took a defensive stance and immediately pulled the taser from his belt to point it in Shizuo’s direction. _“HEY!”_ He yelled, a lot louder than Shizuo thought entirely necessary considering his close proximity and well-working ears. “On your knees with your hands behind your head!” The guard pulled on the two-way radio strapped to his shirt and spoke into it without dropping his glare, “_Backup request in the dining hall. I repeat, immediate backup request in the dining hall._”

Shizuo thought he was being a little overdramatic, he can’t have looked _that_ bad. But he dropped to his knees anyway, and carefully raised his trembling hands to press the bloody red of them to the back of his head. The guard took his submission as reason enough to move closer, to come across the space left between them with his taser still outstretched. Shizuo could see some of the inmates outside were starting to shift their attention and get a better look through the open doors to see what was going on. When the guard was almost right in front of him, Shizuo opened his mouth to speak.

“My cellmate is hurt, somebody—”

He cut himself off when the man kept moving, close enough for Shizuo to make out the feral look in his eyes. He tried to shift back and away on instinct, but before he could do more than flinch, the guard lunged forward in a sharp burst of speed and jammed the head of the taser into the space just under Shizuo’s ribs. 

Shizuo crumpled under the force of the shock firing through his system. It felt like every one of his nerves were being pinched and pulled in all directions. His muscles were spasming uncontrollably, and the way he dropped to the ground to clutch at his ribs and curl in on himself was as out of his control as the tremors wracking his body. It wasn’t as bad he’d remembered in high school, it was _so_ much worse. The only reason he thought he wasn’t screaming was because his throat had closed up and his lungs were flexing on no air. 

How the fuck he could lift the tail end of a truck over his head, and then crumble at the hands of some electricity, Shizuo had no clue. All he knew was that it _hurt_, hurt more than anything had for him in a long fucking time.

“Keep your mouth _shut_ you piece of shit.” Shizuo heard the other man spit down at him. When the pain receded enough for him to gasp for breath, he felt someone’s knee dig hard into his back and squeeze the air right back out of him. Someone was tugging his hands and twisting them around to pin them against the small of his back, a moment later he felt cold metal clasping itself around his wrists. When the guard behind him yanked on his cuffs to pull him up to his knees, Shizuo went willingly. He raised his head to look into the eyes of the guard that had tased him, watched him pull the baton strapped to his belt free, and then swing it through the air to cut across Shizuo’s face with enough force to make his head snap to the side. Shizuo blinked once, twice, and then turned to look back up to the guard with eyes dark on defiance and his mouth tight on anger. The man raised his arm again, baton clenched tight, and then Shizuo heard the guard behind him hiss. 

“_Yoshiya_. That’s enough.” The guard in front of Shizuo stilled with his hand in the air. “You’ll be sacked if you keep pulling that shit.” After a moment’s consideration, the other man let his hand drop back to his side with a grumbled curse. Shizuo tried to ignore the stares he could see coming in from the doors outside, and the thin line of blood he could feel trailing down the side of his face. 

“Fine.” The angry guard snapped, tucking his baton back into his belt. “Get up.” He fisted a hand in the front of Shizuo’s shirt and tried to tug him to his feet. Shizuo stumbled a little, the muscles in his legs still shaky and aching from spasming uncontrollably, but when the other man shoved at his shoulder to turn him around and then shoved him again to keep him walking, he moved without fighting it, letting the two guards escort him out of the cafeteria and back down the halls. They pushed him past the cells and the library, moving further out towards the edge of the prison where Shizuo remembered arriving almost two days ago. Another twist around another corner and the gate he remembered dressing on the other side of came into view. Shizuo could see through to the other side, could make out chairs in the reception and sun streaming in from glass windows. His heart began beating harder, leaping up into his throat as they moved closer, and then the guard behind him yanked on his wrists to pull him to a stop, and shoved him into the open door of the room to his right without giving him the time to consider bolting towards the closed gate.

The space was small and poky, it reminded Shizuo of the interrogation room he’d been stuck in at the police station. The guards pushed him down onto a stool on one side of the steel table taking up most of the room and then retreated back out of the door, pulling it closed behind them and leaving Shizuo alone without another word. There were no windows in this room, and with the only furniture being the table he was sat at and the chair across from him, Shizuo felt like it was more of a small box than any habitable place. He briefly considered getting up to try the door, but his hands were still cuffed behind his back and he was sure they’d have had the foresight to turn the lock. So he sat still in his uncomfortable chair and waited. 

And waited.

And waited.

Shizuo’s sense of time hadn’t been great since being committed here — all the hours seemed to bleed together and linger long — but the stretch of time he sat waiting felt like it spanned more hours than he had fingers to count on the hand still cuffed to his back. By the time someone pulled on the handle to swing the door beside him open and step into the room, he’d developed a very nearly uncontrollable itch where blood was drying to his face and his back hurt from having to sit without support for so long.

The person who let themselves into the room and closed the door behind them were neither of the guards Shizuo remembered bringing him here. This man was dressed in a different uniform and carried himself with an air of superiority far above that of the other guards here. He took a seat in the chair opposite Shizuo and rested his clasped hands on the table in front of him.

“Heiwajima-san,” The man greeted him, and Shizuo didn’t bother hiding his surprise. He hadn’t expected to be addressed by his actual name for the next eight years, let alone so politely. The man kept speaking without waiting for a response on Shizuo’s end. “My name is Kawamura Kanbe, the Warden of this establishment. Sorry to keep you waiting for so long, but some rigorous investigation and… _cleanup_ needed to be undertaken in your absence.”

Shizuo frowned. He wondered if this man would give him the chance to defend himself, or if he’d just get tased for opening his mouth again. He decided to try anyway.

“I didn’t kill him,” He growled, not exactly helping his case, but too exhausted and at the same time too strung out to care. When the man didn’t interrupt, only stared at him with the same bored gaze and flat mouth, Shizuo continued. “I was just checking up on him because I knew he was feeling sick, and then found him like…” Shizuo trailed off, remembering the overpowering smell of blood and Saito’s clammy skin. He swallowed to clear the memory, “I didn’t kill him.”

The man seemed wholly unaffected by Shizuo’s story, his only reaction being to lean back in his chair and cross one leg over the other. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, his voice was calm and disinterested. “I know you didn’t kill him, Heiwajima-san,” He said, and Shizuo’s eyes widened.

“You do?” He asked, trying not to sound too relieved.

“Yes. We ran through the camera footage outside your cell and found the inmate entering and leaving some time late morning, the same time at which there is footage of you in the library. The inmate confessed immediately, he’s already been sent to solitary.”

“Oh,” Shizuo breathed, slowly taking all of the information in. “What’s going to happen to him?” He finally thought to ask, because he could still feel Saito’s blood dried on his hands, and still see the mark of the knife that’d severed his breathing and spilt out his life. No one deserved do die like that, least of all someone like Saito, the only person who’d made any effort to _help_ Shizuo, to be _kind_ to him.

“He’ll spend a week in solitary,” The warden answered, and Shizuo’s brows furrowed.

“That’s all?” He asked. “He _killed_ someone.”

Kawamura’s lips quirked on a small show of amusement, the first genuine emotion Shizuo had seen him exhibit since sitting down. “What would you suggest we do, Heiwajima-san?” He asked a little too condescendingly, “Trial him? Send him to prison?” The man’s smirk eased back into a small frown, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave a tired sigh. “Though unfortunate as it was, these things happen, Heiwajima-san. Prison is not a safe place, especially not for people like Saito-san. The nature of his crimes were bound to catch up to him sooner rather than later, I’m actually very surprised he lasted as long as he did.”

Shizuo’s lips thinned. “_The nature of his crimes?_” He spat, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? If you think someone involved in fraud and tax evasion deserves to have their throat slit while they’re asleep, what that fuck does that mean for someone like me, huh?”

The man scowled, and for a second Shizuo thought he’d gone too far, overstepped his bounds and landed himself in more trouble than what he already was, but Kawamura had his head tilted to the side like he was confused. “Hm, so that’s what he told you?” The man relaxed back into his chair with another sigh. “Well, I don’t blame him, with your sense of justice it seems like it would have been hard cultivating a relationship with you otherwise. Saito was not involved in fraud, Heiwajima-san, at least not that we were aware of.” Shizuo could tell the other man was eyeing him carefully as he spoke, watching his reactions. It was a little disconcerting being under such close scrutiny, but he kept his gaze hard, even as his resolve was slowly wavering. “Saito-san was convicted of pedophilia on multiple counts, one of them being his own children.” He said, and the slow swirl of dread that’d been winding itself into Shizuo’s stomach since the other man had started speaking settled in and made itself at home. “And it’s not a matter of what he deserved, Heiwajima-san,” The man continued, “As I’m sure you can tell, most inmates have a skewed set of morals. Plenty of people here, especially those with children of their own, consider Saito-san’s crimes to be worse than that of murder or torture. It was only a matter of time before the word got out and someone decided to take what they considered justice into their own hands.”

Shizuo’s anger deflated, mostly because he didn’t know who to be angry _at_; himself for being naive, Saito for being deceitful, _Izaya_ for being _right_. Shizuo wasn’t sure whether it was more amoral of him to think Saito deserved to die the way he had, all but drowning in a pool of his own blood, or that he hadn’t deserved to die at all. Either way he hated himself for it, either way he made himself sick. Shizuo thought feeling relieved over another human’s death or lonely for the loss of a horrible person’s company were both very nearly just as bad. The man before him was right, the people here _did_ have a twisted set of morals; Shizuo was sure he fit right in.

Kawamura uncrossed his legs and pushed himself up from his seat. “The mess in your cell has been cleaned,” He said, coming around the table to stand behind Shizuo. “You’ll be sleeping alone for now, but by tomorrow I might have arranged something else.” Shizuo heard the jangle of keys and moment later the man tugged on his wrists and slipped the cuffs off of his hands. “You’ve missed showers, but I’ll have a guard accompany you there for one now. If you’re quick you should still make it to dinner before they stop serving.”

Shizuo stood from his seat once his hands were free. His legs were a little numb from sitting in the one place for so long but the longer he stood, the more the blood started to rush back to them. “Thanks,” He mumbled under his breath, grateful he’d still get the chance to clean himself of the blood dried to him. He didn’t really care about dinner, he wasn’t going to eat anyway. If his appetite had been shot to hell before, it was nonexistent now; he thought seeing a dead body up close might’ve had something to do with that.

The man moved to pull the door open and gestured for Shizuo to step outside. He was halfway through the doorway when Kawamura spoke again, “Oh, and I looked at the footage of the dining hall,” He said, “The guard that attacked you despite your compliance has been reprimanded.”

Shizuo paused to glance back at the man behind him, still holding the door open. His expression hadn’t changed much, but Shizuo thought his eyes might have been a little softer, and maybe his voice didn’t cut quite as sharp. “Thanks,” He said again, this time with a little more sincerity. Kawamura ducked his head in a nod and Shizuo turned to step the rest of the way through the door and out into the hall. There was a guard there waiting for him, different again to both of the ones that’d escorted him here, and he immediately walked ahead of him, let the other man trail behind as he followed the path back towards the centre of the prison and then turned off to where he knew the showers were.

The guard unlocked the doors for him, let him step inside the space still warm and humid from the showers previous, but the room was empty now, void of any inmates save for Shizuo himself, and he may have a had an awful day, might still be feeling disturbed beyond belief, but he was grateful he got the opportunity to shower alone, even if it was just this once. Shizuo walked up to one of the stalls halfway down the line, relieved when the guard stayed back to stand near the entrance instead of right behind him. He’d just pulled his shirt up over his head when the door to the showers opened again and another guard walked through. Shizuo watched them speak for a moment, the new guard explaining something to the one that had arrived with Shizuo in a voice too quiet for him to make anything out, and then he opened the door again to let another person inside — an inmate — before ducking out himself and leaving Shizuo with just the original guard and this new addition.

_You’ve gotta be shitting me_, Shizuo thought to himself, disappointed that he wouldn’t be having a private shower after all. The inmate began to walk down the same aisle as Shizuo, he got about halfway before he too seemed to realise there was someone else inside and raised his ducked down head to watch them. 

Shizuo almost didn’t recognise Izaya for the state of his face. The other man paused to watch him with wide eyes, like Shizuo standing in the showers with blood on his hands and smeared across his face was the last thing he’d expected to see. Shizuo could relate, he certainly hadn’t expected to _ever_ see Izaya in such a state. His face was covered in probably more blood than Shizuo’s, but Shizuo could clearly see it’d come from him, from the split in his puffy lip and the gash over his purple, swollen cheek. One of his eyes were dark too, and the blood around his nose was still leaking slowly over his mouth and dribbling down his chin. He looked like hell; even Shizuo had never put him in such a state and he wondered who had the ability to now, with Izaya looking like he was very nearly untouchable. He obviously wasn’t though, Shizuo didn’t know why that disappointed him so much. 

Izaya ducked his head away from Shizuo’s view and kept moving, forgoing snide remarks or snappy greetings to step under the shower three spaces down from Shizuo’s own. Shizuo watched him for another moment, saw him struggle to pull his shirt over his head without it touching his face and caught sight of the bruises purpling his ribs and stomach, and then forced himself to look away and continue taking off his own clothes to leave them hanging over the shower wall. 

The water stuttered to life as soon as he was naked, cold at first, but once it started to heat Shizuo let himself stand under it fully, rubbing the dried blood from his hands and watching it slip down the drain. He wasn’t sure why the water was so much warmer than the last shower he’d had, and Shizuo wondered if maybe someone had control over the system, if they were adjusting the temperature, or if maybe there was just more heat to spare with only two showers running at once. Out of the corner of his eye, Shizuo could see Izaya cupping his shaky hands with water and bringing them to his face, trying to carefully wash away the blood there, before giving up and putting his entire head under the spray of the shower. He flinched and grimaced at what Shizuo had to imagine was painful pressure and heat to so many open wounds, but he was forcing himself to stay there anyway, letting the red from his own face tint the water and trail down the drain by his bare feet. Shizuo began scrubbing himself just for something else to focus on, he used the shampoo to wash his hair, making sure use more than usual at the back of his head, where he remembered placing his bloody hands before he’d been tased; he really didn’t want to end up with stains in his hair. 

The hot water was working wonders on relaxing his muscles and easing the strain from his shoulders, but when Shizuo closed his eyes he could still see the blood covering Saito’s body and drenching his blankets, so he decided to keep them open instead. He tried to convince himself that Saito had reaped what he’d sown, that what led to his demise had been far out of Shizuo’s hands and really was just as inevitable as the warden had been making it sound, but it didn’t make him feel any better. The water shut itself off before Shizuo was really ready for it, he would have lingered a lot longer under the spray if he’d had the chance, but he he didn’t. The guard came down the aisle to hand him a towel and he eagerly accepted it, rubbing it over his face and through his hair before drying off the rest of his body. He dressed quickly, trying to preserve what warmth he could from the shower before it dissipated. 

Even once Shizuo had his shoes and socks slipped back on, the guard made no move to escort him out of the room, apparently waiting for Izaya to dress himself too. Shizuo watched the other man pull his shirt — stained with drops of red at the front — back over his head and slip his shoes back on his feet without doing up the laces. His nose had stopped bleeding, but Shizuo could see the cut on his cheek and the split in his lip bead up every time he drew the stained towel back from dabbing at them. He finally threw it over the shower wall, and the guard gestured for them to go ahead and leave the room so he could trail behind them and lock the door as they left. Shizuo shivered once they stepped outside, the change in temperature too dramatic to be comfortable.

The guard led them both through the halls and back to what Shizuo knew was the direction of the cafeteria, but he couldn’t hear the hum of chatter or arguments. The halls were suspiciously silent, and when they finally turned into the large room, Shizuo saw why. It was completely empty, not a lingering soul in sight, and Shizuo wondered how much time had really passed during his interrogation, and then in the showers for dinner too have been completely over and everyone to have vacated the room and gone back to their cells. The guard gestured for them to sit down at one of the many empty tables before disappearing into the kitchen, Shizuo thought about telling him not to bother, that he wasn’t planning on eating anything they had to offer, but the the man was already out of sight. He took a seat, and — to his disappointment — Izaya took the one directly across from him. Shizuo thought that for all the scrutiny and control that’d been inflicted over him the last few days, this guard was being awfully lax about his job now.

Shizuo tried not to look at Izaya’s fucked up face across from him and stared down at the table under him instead, watching his reflection, warped in the steel, stare back. After a few minutes of strained silence, the guard returned, and settled a styrofoam cup of what Shizuo could immediately tell was instant ramen in front of either of them. He blinked at it, watched the steam drift from the opening in the top and curl into the cold air, before looking up to the guard with confusion in his eyes. But the man had already walked a few metres away from them and taken a seat at another table, pulling out his phone to look at something that wasn’t either of them. 

Shizuo looked back to the ramen and immediately picked up the chopsticks settled on top. The sight of what looked and smelt like actual food had Shizuo’s appetite returning with a vengeance. Despite this, he made sure to eat slowly, blowing on the hot food and savouring every bite; he had a feeling this was a one time thing. Izaya was slurping on his own noodles with even more care, trying his best to eat without irritating the cut over his mouth. Shizuo thought the day’s events must have taken a lot out of him if he was able to sit with Izaya in relative peace; the urge to beat the other’s face in seemed to be a lot less pressing when it looked like someone else had already done his job for him. Shizuo finished chewing and then swallowed the bite of his noodles. When he spoke it felt too loud for the quiet space around them. 

“You were right,” He said, grimacing a little at the taste of the words in his mouth, “About Saito.”

Izaya’s eyes widened like he hadn’t been expecting Shizuo to speak, like he’d forgotten Shizuo was here at all. His surprised expression quickly disappeared, replaced with a smirk that looked more uncomfortable than usual with the injuries painting his face. “You thought I was lying?” He asked.

Shizuo frowned, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Izaya huffed a short laugh, “I guess that’s fair,” He said, dipping his chopsticks back into his cup to grab another bite of food.

Shizuo thought back to the look Izaya had been giving Saito this morning, and wondered If he already knew what had happened, wondered if he’d had something to do with it. It wouldn’t really surprise him if he had, but Shizuo didn’t understand why he’d have bothered, what he’d have gotten out of it. Sure, the whole thing had probably scarred Shizuo for life _and_ gotten him tased, but that didn’t seem worth whatever Izaya had gotten himself into. Then again, maybe they weren’t connected at all. Shizuo asked before he could convince himself not to. “What happened to your face?”

Izaya didn’t looked surprised at the question, maybe a little annoyed, but he just sighed with a surprising amount of honesty, stared down into his cup, and mumbled, “You reap what you sow, Shizu-chan. You reap what you sow.”

Shizuo didn’t like how uncomfortably close Izaya’s thoughts had come to his own, so he went back to eating his food and tried to think of something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't too disturbing for anyone to read. Only once I'd already written it did I realise it could possibly reflect some things that are happening in the world at the moment. I thought about taking out the bit where Shizuo is tased by the prison guard but then thought nah. Brutality in prison is a very real and relevant thing, even if it's not talked about as much and so I think it's an important and realistic part of the story to feature.


	10. I've Got 99 Problems and You're All of Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick little note:
> 
> I already posted this on the last chapter of my main story, but since I know that a have some different readers for each story, I thought I'd let you know on here too. I recently wrote, recorded and released my first song. The song is based on the amazing ShizuoxIzaya fic "How To Feel Real" by tastewithouttalent. So anyone who has read and liked the story, or is interested anyway, I'd appreciate if you checked the song out!
> 
> Youtube: https://youtu.be/zCj2DcCphNw  
Spotify: spotify:artist:6RL3EIn8tO6yRmfcwcD6pQ  
Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/user-68442079/how-to-feel-real  
Lyrics: https://genius.com/Rosie-how-to-feel-real-lyrics 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Shizuo spent another night sleepless and anxious. If he’d had trouble closing his eyes and leaving his back turned before, his own roommate getting murdered in the bed above him certainly hadn’t helped. He knew the gate to his cell was locked, and that people probably had less of a reason to get revenge on him than they did Saito — _probably_ — but it still kept him up all night. 

It also didn’t help that he thought he could still smell the blood, swore he could see stains that’d soaked down to the bottom of the mattress being held up by the metal slats over him. Shizuo knew it’d be while before he felt safe enough to sleep properly here — not that that mattered, he had the next eight years to work on it after all, it wasn’t like he was exactly lacking in time. 

Breakfast was the same as it had been each day prior, except this time Shizuo was so tired he stumbled a little when he walked, and when he sat down at the table he spent the morning poking at his uneaten food alone. He told himself it was probably for the best, that it had been bound to happen sooner or later anyway. He hadn’t exactly been expecting to make friends when he got here, so Shizuo decided that he was really no worse off than when he’d first started. Besides, he’d always been an introverted person. He’d survive. 

_Probably._

There weren’t as many stares as he’d been worried he’d find, people didn’t look at him like they’d seen him covered in blood and then tased, but maybe that said more about the people already here than it did about him.

Izaya was sat with the same group of inmates, beside the same guy. His face looked better, a little less swollen and more just discoloured, but he still didn’t look very happy; when Shizuo flicked his gaze in the other’s direction for a short time, he saw him swirling his food around on his plate with a frown pulling down at his split lips. Shizuo didn’t want to say it made him feel better, but, well, it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one feeling absolutely miserable. 

Shizuo kept expecting to see the other man flick his eyes up and smile, to flash that irritatingly familiar grin and ignite some measure of warmth in Shizuo’s veins, but Izaya’s attention stayed resolutely on the plate before him, and eventually Shizuo got up to return his own still full plate back to the cafeteria and leave the crowded room.

When he stopped by his cell to pick up the pile of books he’d borrowed, Shizuo saw there were new sheets and blankets covering the bed above his. He frowned at them and wondered if the warden had already found him a replacement roommate; he prayed they wouldn’t end up like the last one. 

Shizuo settled himself back into his favourite spot at the library and continued his slow journey through the books at his side. He found himself questioning things every so often, coming up with ideas that had been sparked by the information given to him, but not completely satisfied by it. He decided that the next time he had a visitor, if he did, he would ask them to bring him a notebook and pen so he could write each question down. Maybe he’d ask for more space books too.

Lunch rolled around and, this time, Shizuo made the decision to attend. His stomach was hurting, felt like it was eating itself alive, and Shizuo promised it he’d at leat see what food they had to offer before refusing it outright. He pulled himself from his spot on the library floor, gathered all his books into his arms, and made his way back outside with the intention of stopping by his cell to drop them off. 

He could hear the humming from down the hall.

Some of the cells he passed were occupied, and some were empty, but none of them were holding the person responsible for emitting such an irritating, out of tune sound. When Shizuo reached his own cell at the end of the hall, the humming was louder, and he physically braced himself for the interaction he was about to engage in: shoulders tense, grip tight on his books. Shizuo stepped inside his cell and almost dropped all of them.

“The _fuck?”_ Shizuo blurted before he could stop himself, brows furrowed at the body stretched out along his own bottom bunk bed. “The _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

Izaya lowered the book he was reading down from in front of his face and revealed his sharp smile to Shizuo before him. “Shizu-chan,” He greeted, “I’m simply relaxing in my new cell, is there a problem with that?”

Shizuo tried to say yes, tried to list every one of the problems that’d been thrown on top of his seemingly ever inflating pile, but all he managed was a high pitch squeak that stuck to the back of his throat, like someone’d just stepped on a dog toy. Shizuo glanced around the room and took note of all the new additions: the tooth brush beside his own, the set of clothes folded on the bed above his, the pile of books sitting over the ground, and thought that what he was feeling must have been an oncoming panic attack.

“You’re joking,” Shizuo said, desperate for Izaya to laugh and agree, to tell him _he’d really got him this time_. Shizuo didn’t think he’d even find it in himself to be mad, just relieved. But Izaya was smirking like it wasn’t a joke, like Shizuo’s world had just come crumbling down a little further and, as per _fucking_ usual, he was stood atop the rubble to smile and laugh at Shizuo being crushed beneath him.

Shizuo dropped his books to the ground and spun on his heel, leaving the room before he had the chance to break down and cry in front of the only person he’d ever truly hated. He kept walking, all the way out to the cafeteria. He wished he could walk further too, step outside and hide himself in the corner of the yard, but he settled for dropping into a seat at one of the empty cafeteria tables and resting his head in his arms. Shizuo wasn’t afraid to tell himself that things couldn’t possibly get any worse because how _could_ they? Surely this was rock bottom, surely there was nothing he’d done that deserved more than this.

If this was real, Shizuo didn’t know how he was going to survive with Izaya as his roommate, was sure he’d end up killing the bastard before the end of the day. He thought about telling someone as much — if not just for his own sake, then Izaya’s too — but eventually decided against it. Maybe this was part of his divine punishment, his ultimate penance.

It was another kind of irony, Shizuo thought, that he’d laughed as Izaya’d been thrown into this hellhole, and now he was being forced to room with him in it.

Shizuo fucking hated irony.


	11. Close Quarters

For what remained of the day, Shizuo spent it mastering the art of lingering.

He lingered in the sun outside, he lingered at the dinner table, hell he even lingered in the showers, drying and then dressing himself with slow, sloth-like movements. But no amount of lingering, he soon realised, could change the course of time. No matter how long he spent putting off the inevitable, it would still come. Time would still move forward and there was nothing he could do to change that. 

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still try. 

Shizuo spent his time in the cafeteria long past dinner, until most inmates had drifted off back to their cells and the ones that hadn’t were now being forced to. He took small steps on his way back, moved so slowly the guard escorting him kept elbowing him between his shoulders with a demand to hurry up.

Shizuo fought against a shudder when he stepped into his cell and the gate was locked behind him. His bed was empty at least, but then he looked up to see the long line of Izaya’s body stretched out over the one above his and thought that it didn’t matter — so long as they were in the same cell Shizuo would be uncomfortable enough that they may as well have been sleeping in the same bed. 

_That’s a disturbing thought._

Shizuo immediately went to lay down over his bed, arms drawn close to his chest and face towards the concrete wall. Maybe if Izaya stayed quiet the entire time, he could learn to pretend that he was alone, that the dip in the mattress above his was just apart of his imagination. A few minutes passed before Shizuo heard the sound of Izaya shifting in his bed and then taking the ladder down it, dropping to land on the ground behind him. The movement stopped, and Shizuo knew that Izaya was staring at him. It was going against every instinct he had to keep his back turned, and Shizuo was just about to give in and twist around when he finally heard the sound of Izaya walking over to the sink and beginning to brush his teeth.

He didn’t relax, _couldn’t_ even if he'd thought it was a good idea to, which he didn’t. He knew he was playing a dangerous game by keeping his back bared, by showing vulnerability to a predator like Izaya, but Shizuo also didn’t want to acknowledge this, didn’t want to make eye contact, or have a conversation. He just wanted his eight years to be over even though they’d yet to really start.

The water from the sink stopped running, and Shizuo listened to Izaya walk back to the side of the bed and being moving something around on the ground. “Hmm, so Shizu-chan like’s space books.” He said, too close for Shizuo to keep convincing himself to stay turned any longer. He twisted to look over his shoulder and saw Izaya kneeling on the ground beside his bed, shuffling through the pile of books Shizuo had brought back with him. 

“Don’t touch my stuff,” He immediately growled. 

Izaya just grinned. “Is it really your stuff though? I don’t see your name on it anywhere.” He made a show of turning the book over in his hands and searching for a name that wasn’t there. 

“I checked it out, so my name is on the register,” He grit out from a jaw clenched so tight, he thought he heard it creak. He pushed himself up to sit on the bed, so he could glare down at Izaya beside him. 

“That doesn’t mean it belongs to you,” He drawled, “Still prison property, as am I, therefore if it’s your property, it’s mine too.” 

_The fuck kinda logic is that?_ Shizuo thought to himself. The way Izaya so casually admitted to being someone else’s property didn’t sit quite well with him either, that wasn’t something he’d have ever thought the other man was even capable of saying. 

Izaya took the book from the top of Shizuo’s pile — the one he was in the process of reading — and moved to climb up the ladder back to his bed. “_Hey_,” Shizuo blurted, reaching out to grab at the other’s ascending ankle too late. Izaya disappeared over the top of the bed and Shizuo debated going after him. He quickly decided against it. He’d let Izaya read his stuff if it kept him quiet, if it made it easier to pretend he wasn’t here.

Shizuo should have known by now that things never went the way he intended them to. He laid back on his mattress and closed his eyes to the silence that lasted all of thirty seconds before Izaya decided to open his mouth again. 

“Wow this is impressive reading for someone as dense as Shizu-chan,” Shizuo heard him lilt from above. He kept his eyes closed, hoping that if he ignored him enough, he’d just cease to exist. “I mean, it _is_ more of a picture book than anything else, but I’d still be impressed if you were able to make sense of any of it. You should ask someone to bring you the good stuff, you know, the ones written by Stephen Hawking. Then again, that might be a little too much for your pea-sized brain to handle. We wouldn’t want it imploding on us know would w—”

“_Ughhhhhh,_” Shizuo groaned into his pillow and cut Izaya off, though with how close he felt he was to bursting into frustrated tears, he was sure the sound came out as more of a cry. “Why are you _here?”_ He whined. He didn’t care that he sounded like he was going to start sobbing, didn’t care about what Izaya thought of him anymore. All he cared about was that this was happening and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Suicide was starting to sound like an idea, maybe not a _good_ one, but it was there. Shizuo briefly entertained it before pushing it aside completely, he’d probably fuck it up and just make his life more miserable. Besides, with the shit he’d done he thought it unlikely he had a paradise waiting for him after death, and eight years of suffering was a hell of a lot better than an eternity of it. 

If Izaya was at all offended by Shizuo’s obvious distaste for his presence, he didn’t sound like it. “Because we both had a free bed in our cell, and I ever so graciously agreed to share with you and save space.”

_Why?_ Shizuo felt like asking. _Why, why, why, why?_ But he was sure that if Izaya did have an answer, he wasn’t going to like it, so he kept his mouth closed. 

“It’s a shame your roommate met such an untimely demise, but look on the bright side: now you have me!”

_Fuck,_ if that was the bright side then maybe suicide wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It was probably better he did it before Izaya got to him in his sleep anyway. The fact that Izaya was here, and not locked away in solitary, Shizuo knew meant that he hadn’t been the one to draw the blade across Saito’s neck, but he also knew that the other had taken part in it somehow, had managed to convince someone to do his dirty work. Izaya was dangerous, he’d always known that, but he’d never had reason to be afraid himself, had always thought it more of a priority to warn others than heed his own advice. But now…

Now Shizuo couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between them, that their places had been switched and he held the position of prey. He wasn’t scared exactly, still thought that so long as he stayed awake he could protect himself from Izaya with one hand, but he was definitely… _wary._ He knew that he had to keep his guard up, or else face the chance he might end up like Saito. Because what other reason would Izaya have for rooming with him if not to slit his throat in his sleep?

“It’s not nice to ignore people, you know,” Izaya drawled. “If we’re going to be cellmates, communication will be key.”

“I don’t want to communicate with you,” Shizuo spoke honestly, “I don’t wan’t to look at you. I don’t want to think about you.” He draped an arm over his eyes, blocking out the view of the bed above him. 

Izaya was silent, and for more than a few moments Shizuo thought he’d finally decided to shut up. But then he spoke again, this time with a bit of an edge to his voice. “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t always get what you want now isn’t it?”

_A good thing for who?_ He thought to himself, because surely whatever Izaya thought he was getting out of this couldn’t be worth it for him. Surely, he must have been suffering too. Or maybe Shizuo’s suffering just outweighed his own. Shizuo liked to think he wasn’t being overdramatic, that he had every reason to be as unhappy as he was. Sure, his last roommate had been a pedophile, but Izaya was just as bad. Maybe not in the same way — _god_, he hoped — but Izaya was still scum, still capable of many bad things, things that were more likely to pose a danger to Shizuo than anything Saito probably could have done.

The lights flickered out a while later, shrouding the room in darkness. He listened to the sound of blankets moving above him, and then Izaya’s voice. “Goodnight, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo didn’t answer. He stayed stiff over the blankets with his hands by his sides, staring at the slats in the bed above with the intention to do just that until the lights came back on.


	12. Olive Branch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already posted this on my other story but, Shizaya amv I made: https://youtu.be/YyZRFVSJLjs

Shizuo didn’t wake because he never fell asleep.

He thought maybe he’d closed his eyes at some point, it was hard to tell when his vision was just as dark and unseeing with them open, but he hadn’t let himself indulge in it for long; certainly not long enough to find any kind of rest. It had been a cold night and even getting under the thin blankets atop his bed hadn’t really done enough to ease his shivering. It made him think the shaking had more to do with the stress of sleeping in the same space as Izaya than it did the temperature of the room.

As soon as the lights came on he pulled himself from the bed, eager to start moving and ease his restless legs. The concrete under him felt freezing even through his socks. Shizuo reluctantly turned to look up at the bed atop his own. He’d half expected to find Izaya already awake and staring, a smirk waiting for him on his lips and an insult at the back of his tongue, but all he could see was Izaya bundled up under the blankets, face tucked into the covers like he was too cold to be out of them. Shizuo thought that for all his own apprehension to sleep in the same room as Izaya, the other man seemed to have none. Was he really that self assured? That confident? He had to know that, vulnerable like he was, Shizuo could easily kill him before he even had the chance to open his eyes.

He fought with the very nearly overwhelming urge to move closer, to see how near he could get before Izaya woke. He resisted. Izaya looked more gentle in sleep; the sharp lines of his features seemed to soften and the dangerous aura usually emanating from him seemed to fade, but Shizuo wasn’t dumb enough to risk thinking for a second he wasn’t staring at the same person he saw when Izaya was awake. He was probably sleeping with a butchers knife under his pillow, waiting for Shizuo to get close enough before he swung his arm out in a sharp burst of movement and drove it down on top of Shizuo’s head.

Shizuo could see the book Izaya’d stolen from him resting on the pillow beside his head. Even from where he was standing he could tell that the other man had unfolded the page he’d marked and replaced it with his own. _Tch, how annoying._ He finally tore his gaze away and dragged himself to the sink so he could brush his teeth a little too hard and spit blood out into the drain. The new set of clothes he changed into were cold from being out all night; Shizuo had just pulled his shirt off and dropped it to the floor when the rustle of blankets alerted him to Izaya’s slow wake. 

Izaya groaned before sitting up in his bed, rubbing a hand over his face. His hair was mussed from sleep and his eyes were still droopy. When Izaya noticed Shizuo staring, he smiled cheerily, “Morning, Shizu-chan.” Shizuo ignored him and finished pulling a clean shirt over his head. “Man, that was the best sleep I’ve had the entire time I’ve been here!” He continued the one-sided conversation, not at all affected by Shizuo’s lack of a response. How in the hell Izaya thought he’d slept better in a cell with Shizuo than in one on his own, he can no fucking clue. 

He wished the gate would hurry up and open so he could leave. Instead of staring while it remained stubbornly closed, Shizuo took a seat on his bed to tie his shoes. Izaya jumped down from the bed above his, landing with a grace he thought no one should have had after just waking. He kept his gaze on the concrete wall while Izaya brushed his teeth and got dressed. The other was halfway through changing when the cell gates finally slid open with a loud buzz and an even louder clang of metal on metal. Shizuo immediately stood and left the room, taking long strides through the hall and into the cafeteria. 

It was raining outside, Shizuo could see it through the little window in the door; it made the large hall feel even darker and more dreary without the sun streaming through. He waited in line for his food just so he’d have something to look at while he sat that wasn’t his stupid reflection in the steel table, but even just moving the scrambled concoction around on his tray was making him feel a little queasy. Shizuo took a few tentative bites and then gave up. The longer he went without food, the easier starving himself seemed to be getting anyway. He’d just picked up a spoonful of slop and tilted his wrist to let it fall back to his tray when a flurry of movement across from him pulled his attention away. Izaya slid into the seat on the other side of his table, tray in his hands and a smirk on his face.

Shizuo paused with his spoon still mid-air; he had a moment to wonder if Izaya’d accidentally seated himself at the wrong table, if he’d somehow mistaken Shizuo for one of the people in his gang. But even after locking his gaze with Shizuo’s wide one, Izaya’s smile didn’t falter. He simply shifted his attention down to his food and began picking out bits and pieces to eat like this was normal, like they’d always been lunch buddies. 

“The hell are you doing?” He finally managed to ask, initial shock subsiding enough for regular irritation to take its place. Was there seriously no escape from the flea? What part of Izaya being the bane of his existence didn’t the universe understand? He was having a hard enough time accepting the fact they’d been roomed together, if he had to deal Izaya following him around like a lost puppy — no, that wasn’t a very good analogy — like some kind of unrelenting _parasite_, Shizuo wasn’t going to be able to last nearly as long as he thought he would.

Izaya looked up with raised brow. “I’m eating my breakfast Shizu-chan. At least what passes for breakfast here anyway.”

“No,” Shizuo felt the plastic spoon in his hand crack, shards of it falling to scatter over the food on his tray like some kind of garnish. “I meant what are you doing _here_.”

Izaya shrugged. “Well, this table is as good as any, and since I don’t see your name on it anywhere…” Izaya made a show of looking around the table, empty save for the two of them, because who _else_ would be insane enough to sit with him. Despite the fact most people seemed to be steering clear, more so now that Izaya was with him, Shizuo had the distinct feeling that someone was burning holes in the back of his head. He turned to look behind him and, sure enough, there were wary glances flicking there and back in his direction, but only one group of people had the gall to outright stare. 

The inmates in Izaya’s gang looked like they were caught between a great deal of confusion and anger. He locked eyes with the man he’d always seen glued to Izaya’s side (Tatsuo, was it?) and very nearly flinched away at the shadows there. Dark and seething, Tatsuo’s glare definitely had the heat to burn him. Shizuo made sure to glare back, a silent warning to fuck right off, and then turned back to face Izaya still picking at his food like he didn’t currently hold the attention of everyone in the room. 

“Yeah well, I don’t think your friends are very happy about that,” He said. Shizuo wondered if Izaya had done something to piss them off and get himself kicked out of the group. He told himself he only cared because he didn’t want to be stuck with him instead.

Izaya just shrugged, doing a praise worthy job of ignoring all the animosity aimed his way — including Shizuo’s. “They’re not my friends.”

Shizuo dropped what remained of his plastic spoon into his tray just so he could clench each fist tight around the edge of the table, feel the metal warp under his hands. “Yeah? Well neither am I,” He growled, “So why the _fuck_ are you sitting with me?”

Izaya finally looked up from his food, scowl darker than the black of his hair. Shizuo thought he might have seen something alarmingly close to hurt flash across the other’s eyes, but then it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, swept away by the mask sliding smooth over Izaya’s features, turning them as blank and flat as the sound of his voice. “Because it’s my unwavering, all-consuming goal in life to make you absolutely miserable.”

The words were all but dripping with insincerity, like Izaya was making a mockery of the one thing Shizuo thought to be an absolute truth in his universe; grass was green and Izaya Orihara lived to make his life hell. Shizuo held Izaya’s gaze for a second, for two. He stared at the bruises on his face that had already faded from black and blue to purple and green, and decided it was too exhausting to care. Arguing with Izaya until he got pissed enough to leave sounded like more effort than it would take to just sit and ignore him. “Whatever.” Shizuo pushed his tray away from him, making room to rest his forearms against he table instead. Each blink threatened to send him to sleep, a night without sleep and a day without food had him struggling for coherency. “I really can’t be bothered stopping you.”

Izaya made a face like he wasn’t very impressed. “I don’t think you could stop a _fly_ in your condition.”

Shizuo frowned. “My _condition?_ The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Shizu-chan looks like he’s about to fade away,” Izaya drawled, using a wave of his hand to gesture up and down Shizuo’s body. “Is that your plan? Starve yourself until you look dead enough that they’ll keep you in the infirmary?” Izaya laughed. “I think you’ll find yourself disappointed.”

“The fuck? The only plan I have is to get through the next eight years without killing anyone.” _Myself included_, he thought.

“Well, with the way you’re starting to look I don’t think you’ll be in much shape for killing anyone.” Izaya pressed the plastic spoon he was holding to his lips, feigning thoughtfulness as he looked up at the ceiling. “Ah, maybe you’re onto something after all.” Shizuo grit his teeth. As if there was any way he’d be starving himself on purpose, as if he wouldn’t be gorging himself right now if there was anything to eat that didn’t look like it’d make him sick. “With the way you ate before you got here,” Izaya went on, “I thought the transition into prison food would have been relatively smooth for you.”

“I ate fine,” He bit back. So what if he couldn’t afford much more than microwave meals and packet ramen most nights? No part of his diet could have prepared him for what they deemed food _here_. Izaya must have understood that; Shizuo knew he was well off, he’d probably eaten out at fancy restaurants every other night, maybe he’d even had his own personal _chef_. If Shizuo was having trouble stomaching the food here, he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Izaya, for someone who’d lived in such luxury. The transition into prison must have been anything but smooth sailing for him.

And so how in the hell was he faring so much better than Shizuo? Why did it feel like _he_ was struggling for every step while Izaya _still_ laughed over him. Shizuo may have been physically strong, but Izaya was so goddamn resilient it would have been admirable if it wasn’t so annoying.

Shizuo’s attention zeroed in on the movement of Izaya’s hands over his tray, on the way he peeled back the plastic cover on something that looked mouth-wateringly close to yogurt. It smelled like it too, sweet and only a little bit sour. Shizuo snapped his gaze back to his own tray, wondering how in the hell he’d missed something that looked and smelled like the same food he often ate in school when he realised he _hadn’t_ missed it. His tray sat devoid of any small containers, and when Shizuo looked around, he saw that everyone else’s did too.

Now that he looked a little closer, he saw that Izaya’s tray had more than a few things his didn’t; little extra bits and pieces like the things his mum used to stuff into his school lunchbox. Shizuo looked at the yogurt longingly, he was staring so intently it took a moment for him to realise Izaya had taken it off his tray and slid it along the table so it sat directly in front of him. Shizuo blinked at it, then looked up at Izaya to blink at him.

“What?” Izaya asked. “You’re not seriously going to try and tell me you don’t want it, are you?”

Of course Shizuo wanted it, he was practically salivating at the thought of having it, but the day he admitted he wanted something Izaya was offering him would be the day hell froze over. “You don’t want it?” He asked instead.

Izaya shook his head with a small smile. “It’s too sweet for me.” He pushed it further along to table, like the closer it was to Shizuo the more trouble he knew he’d have resisting it. He couldn’t say it wasn’t working. “Think of it as a peace offering.”

Shizuo tore his gaze away from the dessert to glare at Izaya. “You think a cup of yogurt’s gonna make up for all the shit you’ve put me through?” He laughed. “Not fucking likely. ‘Sides, why the hell would you wanna give _me_ a peace offering?” 

Izaya shrugged, a sharp shift of his shoulders. “Well, we’re practically living together now, aren’t we? I think it’s probably in my best interest that you don’t strangle me while I’m asleep.” Izaya’s smirk spread wider. “Buuuuut if you’re not interested,” He droned, reaching out to catch his fingers at the edge of the yogurt cup and draw it back along the table.

“_Wait,_” Shizuo blurted, and then regretted it as soon as something pleased passed over Izaya’s face, like Shizuo’d just done exactly what the other thought he would. Izaya’s hand paused on its journey across the table. Shizuo grit his teeth. “Fine. I won’t strangle you while you’re _asleep_,” He said.

Izaya let go of the cup, leaving it set in the middle of the table, and Shizuo immediately reached out to draw it in before the other man could change his mind. It was only once he’d grasped it carefully in one hand, knowing from experience that a grip too strong would make the whole thing burst, that he realised what remained of his spoon sat in shards on his tray. 

“Here.” Shizuo looked back up from his dearly departed spoon to see Izaya offering his own across the table, fingers gripping the plastic like he would one of his knives. “Unless you want to use your fingers?” He suggested — brow raised — when Shizuo made no move to take it. Shizuo glared at the offending object, seriously considering the use of his fingers instead because at least _they_ hadn’t been inside Izaya’s mouth. He reached out to pull it from the other’s hand with a grimace. The spoon looked clean, but Shizuo still made sure to wipe each side of it on the edge of his shirt.

The sweet taste of the yogurt masked anything that might have lingered from Izaya’s mouth. Shizuo had to close his eyes after the first bite just to better appreciate the fact he’d never had yogurt that tasted _this damn good._

“Jeez, don’t cum in your pants. It can’t be _that_ good.” The amused lilt of Izaya’s voice snapped him out of whatever moment he’d taken for indulging in his food. He opened his eyes to glare at the other man in an effort to cover up his embarrassment. Now that Shizuo knew he was being watched he made sure to keep his face impassive as he ate, taking small spoonfuls at a time to make his food last. Still, he finished it all too quickly, placing the empty cup on his tray once he was done. He didn’t say thank you, even if the little voice pressed close to the back of his mind — probably his conscience, he told himself — said he really should. 

Izaya was doing a good job of feigning disinterest, but Shizuo could see the muscles in the other’s jaw clench tight when he locked eyes with something over Shizuo’s shoulder. The lazy rhythm of his nails tapping against the table stopped and his hand curled into a fist atop the metal instead. Izaya only let whoever it was he was looking at keep his attention for a few seconds, then he looked away and made a show of relaxing back in his chair, but even Shizuo could tell that it was forced. 

The rain must have gotten heavier in the last few minutes, because if Shizuo listened closely, he could hear the sound of it beating down on the basketball court outside. Izaya had somehow convinced Shizuo to spare him while he was asleep, but how did Shizuo know Izaya had any intention of offering the same treatment back? Shizuo had nothing to give, no tributes of peace, no ribbon tied promises. All he had the power to do was keep his violence in check and he wasn’t even very good at it. So why in the hell had Izaya decided to room with _him?_ Because that must have been what it was, a _decision_. If Izaya had as much sway here as everything kept telling him he did then there was no way their shared living situation hadn’t come about from anything less than Izaya’s intentional design. Izaya wanted something from him, he must have, and now it was just a matter of waiting to find out what that was.

And if Shinra was _right_, if Izaya really _did_ want protection from whatever it was he’d gotten himself tied up in, then…

Well, he was gonna be shit outta luck. ‘Cause there was no way in hell Shizuo was gonna let himself get tangled up that that too, no way he was gonna let Izaya be the one to stick an even bigger target to the back of his shirt. He had to keep his head down, stay under the radar, and making deals with Izaya was already big fuckin’ red flag for both. 

Shizuo already regretted taking the yogurt; it may have been sweet on his tongue, but what it represented had left an aftertaste bitter enough to make him feel sick.


	13. Closed On Sundays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My current stress levels may have affected the quality of this chapter, and for that I am truly sorry. Hopefully the next one will be a little bit better >.<

Shizuo stood before the library with his hands clenched into fists. Nails bit into his palms as he stared at the closed glass doors and the small square of paper taped to the front of one.

_Closed on Sundays_

What the _fuck?_ Had he stopped outside the flower shop of some small village? There were few places in the whole of Ikebukuro that decided to shut up shop on Sundays. Why the _only_ comfortable place to spend time in in a prison thought they needed to do so was so fucking beyond him, Shizuo had half a mind to storm out of here and ask the warden himself. 

“Why god, _why?”_ He asked the ceiling instead, voice no more than a pained whisper. He didn’t want to spend the rest of the day in his cell with Izaya, he couldn’t think of anything _worse_, but the cafeteria was no better, and it was still pouring down outside so…

“_Fuck_,” Shizuo spat, running an angry hand through his hair and turning away from the library to make his miserable way back to his cell. Maybe he’d get lucky, maybe Izaya wouldn’t be there. Shizuo knew before he even got close to dragging his way back inside that that wouldn’t be the case.

Izaya was on his bed again, back supported by the frame, long legs stretched out along the length of it. “Get. Off.” Shizuo grit out from between clenched teeth.

“Hmm?” Izaya hummed, lowering the book he’d stolen from in front of his face.

“And give that back while you’re at it,” He added, pointing to the book in Izaya’s hands.

Izaya pouted. “But I’m already halfway through it.” 

He was. When Shizuo looked closer to check he saw Izaya had the book open on a page _more_ than halfway through. Shizuo’d had it for longer and barely gotten more than ten pages in. He wondered if Izaya was really reading it all or just pretending to. “Fine.” He said, closing his eyes for a moment in the hopes it might help hold him together. “Take the book. Just get out of my bed.”

He ignored Izaya’s sigh. “Shizu-chan needs to learn to share.” Izaya drew his legs back up, but when he moved it was to crawl and seat himself on other side of the bed instead of leaving it entirely. “You’d think having a sibling would have already taught you that.”

Shizuo gaped at the sight, honestly at a loss on how to make himself any clearer without grabbing Izaya by the back of the shirt and launching him into the wall. He spent a moment standing there, so frustrated and miserable, Izaya was one wrong word away from making him cry. And then he stepped forward and dropped down to the mattress with enough force the entire frame rattled. He leant back against the metal, legs tucked up to his chest so they wouldn’t be anywhere near where Izaya was sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Aw, why the long face?” Izaya asked, voice sickly sweet and so obviously fake Shizuo wondered why he even bothered. He ignored it and kept his gaze on the blankets under him, trying to count each thread of thick cotton just for something to do. He heard the scrape of paper on paper as Izaya turned a page in his book. “I thought you’d have adjusted by now.” Izaya’s voice was back to normal, the sound of it only a little less grating on his ears. “I mean, this place isn’t that different to what you used to live in after all. If you close your eyes you can probably pretend you're back in your apartment.”

Shizuo held Izaya’s gaze long enough to glare at it. “Not with you here.”

Izaya rolled his eyes. “Fine, pretend you’re walking the streets of Ikebukuro then.” He looked back down to the book in his hands. “If you need my presence to make some sense in your fantasy.”

Shizuo growled, “If I saw you in Ikebukuro I’d be chasing you right back out of it!”

Izaya let his hands and the book clutched in them drop heavy to his lap. The glare he fixed Shizuo with was flat and irritated. “Would that make you feel better, Shizu-chan?” He asked, brows drawn low, voice razor sharp. “If you could chase me around the building? Bash my head into a few walls?” Another second of that scathing glare, and then Izaya brought his book back up to his face. “If it gets you to stop looking like a kicked puppy, go right ahead.”

Was he being serious? With Izaya sometimes it was hard to tell, and keeping up with him was giving Shizuo a headache. “Do you _want_ me to?”

Izaya shrugged without looking away from his book. “Not particularly, but as you can probably tell I’m a little starved for entertainment these days.” He turned another page. “So I won’t complain too much.”

_What the fuck is wrong with him?_ Shizuo thought to himself. He was having trouble deciding if Izaya had always been this messed up or if this was just another side effect of his time in prison. Maybe Izaya wasn’t dealing with this as well as Shizuo had originally assumed, maybe his descent into madness and despair was just taking its time, or a little more well hidden than Shizuo’s own. But Izaya didn’t look like he was going to cry, he didn’t look like he was drowning in self pity; he looked, disregarding some obvious physical changes, mostly the same. And so Shizuo didn’t stop himself from asking, “How do you do it?”

“What?”

Shizuo took a deep breath, and then released it. “I don’t know… Deal with all this without going crazy.” He mumbled, lifting a hand only slightly to gesture around them. 

With another sigh, Izaya dropped his book back to his lap, this time marking his page before closing it completely. Shizuo was already regretting having opened his mouth; if he’d known the question might summon Izaya’s full attention, he’d never have asked it. Izaya just watched him for a moment, studying his face and making Shizuo feel like he was back to sitting before the psychologist his parents had forced him to see once or twice when he was young. 

Finally, Izaya seemed satisfied with whatever he saw, and took a breath to start speaking, “Well, acceptance for one. Stop making yourself miserable with the thought that you’re in _here_ instead of out _there_.” Shizuo watched Izaya settle into greater comfort at the foot of his bed, leaning back against the metal bars there. “And you can stop blaming yourself for being the _reason_ you’re here too. Feeling sorry for yourself won’t get you anywhere.”

Tch, Shizuo knew that. It wasn’t like he did it on _purpose_. It was just that he had very little to do _besides_ sit around feeling sorry for himself. Going through every mistake he’d ever made and wondering which one was the one that’d led him here seemed to be almost all that occupied his thoughts. 

Almost.

“You’ve got the right idea about reading,” Izaya said, gesturing to the pile of books on the ground with a tilt of his head. As he spoke, his fingers drummed a rhythm over the cover of Shizuo’s book in his lap. “But better than distracting yourself is having an ultimate goal to keep you occupied. When I first got here mine was to cultivate relationships, build a reputation, and better my physical form. Now, my time here is…” A flicker of a grimace crossed over Izaya’s face. His fingers paused to rest on his book. “Infinitely less difficult than it was when I first arrived.” 

Shizuo wasn’t sure how that was supposed to help when his only goal was to keep out of the way and not cause any more trouble. He thought it wouldn’t hurt to have Izaya’s perks: better food, the ability to pick his own cell, to not be harassed by idiots. But he had a feeling that however Izaya had gotten to where he was, whatever he’d done to grant himself such luxuries, Shizuo would be either incapable or unwilling to do the same.

“What’s your goal now?” Shizuo asked, because that was what he really wanted to know, wasn’t it? What Izaya was up to, why he was bothering to talk to Shizuo like he was helping him, why he’d switched rooms.

Izaya smirked, his eyes glinted, and it didn’t make Shizuo feel any better.

“Well, I’m not planning a prison break if that’s what you’re assuming,” He said. “But if everyone thinks I’m just going to sit here quietly for the next twenty five years, well, they’ll be very disappointed.” Shizuo wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, besides nothing good. He really should have known that even here Izaya was still planning on causing trouble. “But if you’re that unhappy, I’m fairly certain no one here could stop you from leaving if you really wanted to. I’m surprised you haven’t tried already.”

“Yeah?” Shizuo grumbled. “And what the hell would I do then?”

Izaya shrugged. “Go live as a huntsman in the woods or something. I’m sure that’ll come as close as you can get to the peaceful life you’ve always dreamed of having.”

Maybe. But Shizuo also thought it’d be lonely, maybe even lonelier than being here. At least _here_ he had—

_No. Do_ not _finish that thought._

“What should my goal be then?” He asked, idly toying with a loose thread on the blanket under him. 

“Only you can decide that for yourself, Shizu-chan.” Izaya tipped his head back against the frame of their bunk bed and closed his eyes. “Although, at this point it seems that finding things to make this life a little bit more worth living for you would be a good place to start.”

“How do I do that?” Shizuo asked, and Izaya had already been so unreasonably helpful the last few minutes that Shizuo honestly expected him to have an answer he liked. 

“And why would I tell you?” Izaya smirked with his eyes still closed. “You’ve been nothing but rude to me since you’ve arrived, while I’ve been making a constant effort to help you.”

_Should've fuckin’ known,_ Shizuo thought to himself. Izaya wasn’t helping him, he was just leading him down a series of rabbit holes that all ended with Shizuo asking this exact question. Even when it was under the guise of helping him, Izaya still managed to manipulate him; and he really only had himself to blame for thinking any differently. 

Shizuo grit his teeth. “What do you want?”

The grin that split Izaya’s face was so frightening it actually made him flinch. What well-functioning person had that kind of a reaction to that kind of question? Izaya’s instability had always just annoyed — and maybe confused — Shizuo, but in here, up this close, it really fucking scared him. How he’d survived so long with this man as his enemy, Shizuo had no freaking clue, but it made him wonder if maybe the smartest thing he could do _was_ to have Izaya on his side, as batshit crazy that might have seemed. What was that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Maybe Shizuo was safer treating Izaya as an ally after all, safer cultivating some sort of parasitic relationship with him.

Maybe that should have been his goal from the _start._ God knows his life up until now might have been a little less taxing. Maybe he wouldn't even _be_ here right now.

When Izaya opened his eyes to meet Shizuo’s wary ones, his grin spread even wider, pearly white teeth glinting in the room’s fluorescent light. “Ah, music to my ears, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo swallowed. This whole conversation had been a bad idea. He didn’t _want_ to know what Izaya wanted, because he had a feeling that, one way or another, whatever it was, Izaya was going to make sure Shizuo gave it to him.


	14. Symbiotic

“No.”

“No?”

“_No._” Shizuo’s eyes were firm, his mouth set in a straight line. Izaya had the gall to fucking _pout._

“But you don’t even know yet what it is I want.”

“I don’t need to,” Shizuo answered. “You asking me to _‘owe you one’_ is bad enough.” And it was, because who the fuck _knew_ when or what Izaya was going to ask of him. He wasn’t going to spend the next eight years of his life sitting on the edge of his seat, flinching every time Izaya opened his mouth. Shizuo didn’t like the thought of owing _anyone_ anything, least of all someone like Izaya. 

“Don’t be like that.” Izaya tsked. “It’s a simple exchange. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

Shizuo grimaced. “I’m not scratching anything of yours.”

Izaya dropped his gaze and sighed. “Suit yourself,” He surrendered, re-opening his book and picking up where he’d left off. “But don’t come haunting me when you decide to tie your bedsheets into a noose and hang yourself from the ceiling.”

Shizuo barely stopped himself from scoffing. Izaya could be damn sure that if he was stuck on this earth as a ghost, he’d be the _only_ one Shizuo’d be bothered haunting. Spending his afterlife getting revenge for all the shit Izaya’d done to him throughout his _actual_ life sounded about as close to heaven as he thought he was going to get. 

Izaya went quiet as he continued to read. His face was impassive and Shizuo had a hard time trying to tell if he was pissed or not. Only once a few minutes had passed and the conversation seemed well and truly over did Shizuo decide to speak again. “I don’t see why you’d need my help anyway,” He grumbled. “Seems like your king of the fucking world here.” He wasn’t bitter about it. Definitely not. He just didn’t like the thought that everywhere Izaya went he seemed to flourish. He didn’t think it was fair that he should be the only one to struggle. 

“I think you’re greatly underestimating your worth to me.”

Shizuo paused; another moment passed and then Izaya did too, only seeming to realise what he’d just said after he’d already said it. His wide eyes relaxed. He turned the page of his book like his cheeks weren’t dusted red. “I _mean,_” He corrected himself, “There are things you can do for me better than what I might be able to do myself.”

“…Alright,” Shizuo said, voice a little uncertain. “Like what? You want me to protect you from someone?” 

Izaya shrugged tense shoulders. “Possibly. I haven’t decided quite yet, that’s why I wanted you to owe me a favour,” He explained. 

Shizuo tilted his head back to look at the metal slats in the bed over him. He started to wonder if this had been Izaya’s plan all along, if this was why he’d roomed with him. It was a relief, in a way — the thought that Izaya needed something from him enough to bribe him, enough to force himself into the same space as him. Shizuo felt like it reassured his safety for the time being; because if Izaya needed him for something then that meant he couldn’t hurt him, it meant he’d have to do his best to keep himself in Shizuo’s good graces. The more Shizuo thought about it, the more he realised how good the deal Izaya had offered him actually _was._

“Fine,” He mumbled, so quietly he wasn’t sure if Izaya had heard him, but when Shizuo looked back down he found Izaya was already watching him. “I’ll… owe you one, or whatever…”

Izaya smiled — a slow, satisfied one, only a little less frightening than his usual cheshire grin. Shizuo’s gaze got caught at the way it pulled the scar on his lip taught, lightening it to further clarity on the soft pink of his mouth. It took him longer than it really should have to realise he was staring and then longer still to look away. 

With nothing else to do, Shizuo went back to staring up at the bed over him as Izaya continued to read. He thought about his friends, about Celty, and Shinra, and Kasuka, and Tom. He wondered what they’d have been doing right about now, how their day might have looked with him still in it. He imagined walking the streets with Tom and Vorona, smoking in the park with Celty, having lunch with his brother. He was so caught up in his daydream that it took Izaya speaking for him to notice the other man had closed his book and stood from the bed. “Are you coming to lunch?” He asked. 

Shizuo stared at him. Was it that time already? It felt like they’d only just returned from breakfast. “Sure,” He mumbled. It’d be better for him than sitting here fantasising about the things he no longer had. 

He waited in line for his lunch with Izaya close behind him. It took everything he had to keep his back turned without looking over his shoulder every two seconds, and he couldn’t help but feel relieved once he got his tray and was able to take a seat at an empty table. Shizuo watched as Izaya got his own lunch, talking and smiling with the cooks like they were old friends. When it began to make something frustrated and bitter curl in his chest, he turned his head to look at the rain still falling outside.

Izaya took a seat across from Shizuo, placing his tray carefully on the table; he wasn’t completely sure where in the deal they’d agreed to have lunch together, but Izaya somehow seemed to think they had. 

When Shizuo looked down at his food he found it looked mildly more appetising than what he’d had previously, and that was only because there sat a small portion of plain, white rice. Izaya had extra things adorning his tray again, little bits and pieces to go along with his meal. Shizuo watched him begin to pick each item up, one by one, and glance over the packaging for a moment before placing it down on Shizuo’s side of the table. He stared with wide eyes as Izaya pushed over a fruit juice carton, a small packet of crackers, and a box of raisins. The last item was a little bag of mixed nuts, and instead of placing it on Shizuo’s side, Izaya set the bag down in front of himself. “I want these,” He said, and Shizuo didn’t dare argue, too grateful for what he’d already been given. 

He dug into his food, alternating between picking at snacks, his rice, and sipping on his juice. The entire thing was only making him feel more like he’d stepped into the past and was stuck in a warped version of high school, one where Izaya shared his food with him and Shizuo didn’t feel entirely compelled to strangle him. He thought sitting with Izaya like this would never stop being strange. He could still feel the familiar heat of frustration, the low buzz of anger, but it was muffled now, like he was feeling it through twenty layers of skin. He thought so long as Izaya didn’t do or say anything to piss him off, he’d be fine just holding it in. 

When Shizuo opened his packet of crackers he paused with the package in front of him; the arm he was holding them with, tense, and his eyebrows, furrowed. He fought with himself for a moment, caught between pulling something from the bag, and reaching out over the distance between them to offer Izaya some instead.

He let his arm extend with a sigh, forcing the packet in front of Izaya with a rough jerk of his hand. Izaya stared at it, chopsticks caught in his mouth and eyes a little wider than usual. Shizuo shook the bag impatiently, waiting for Izaya to take one so he could pull it back. Izaya flicked his gaze up to Shizuo’s, held it there for a moment, and then dropped it back down to the packet, lifting his hand to gingerly pick a cracker out from the bag and pop it in his mouth, a small smile stretching his lips that Shizuo did his best to ignore. 

Once Izaya had finished his food and Shizuo was nearing the end of his own, Izaya said something about being thirsty and stood from the table. Shizuo thought about offering to share his own carton of juice and then quickly decided against it, not quite willing to let Izaya put his mouth on the straw he’d then have to use too. There was a drinking fountain by the far wall and Shizuo watched the other man head towards it. 

He was drifting in and out of thought, trying to pick out the patter of the rain falling from the raucous conversation around him, when the sound of someone whistling caught his attention. His gaze flicked over to a table of inmates close by the water fountain Izaya had stopped at, each member of the table staring as he bent over to take a drink. The man at the table — tall, wide-shouldered, and smug — cat called again, and Shizuo watched Izaya straighten from the fountain to wipe a hand across his mouth and look back over his shoulder. 

He must have been new, Shizuo reasoned, because that was the only way he imagined this man might have thought cat-calling the flea would be a good idea. His friends knew better, because they were looking at him with wide eyes and wary expressions; but the new inmate sat oblivious to them all, attention caught by Izaya like he was the only one in the room. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here, huh?” The man jeered. Shizuo almost spat out his juice. 

From what he could see, Izaya didn’t look impressed; Shizuo had almost expected him to laugh, and smile, and brush aside the leery remark like it was nothing at all, but Izaya spared barely a glance for the man before rolling his eyes and turning away. 

“Oi, don’t be like that,” The stranger said, pushing himself to stand from the table. The room was quickly turning quiet, like everyone had put their conversations on pause in favour of watching the disaster to come, and Shizuo wondered how this idiot had yet to notice. “I was hoping we could be friends.” The man stalked forward. Izaya was standing with his back to the inmate, hand on the fountain, but he wasn’t bending over to take another drink. Only once the other man had left a metre or so worth of distance between them did Izaya wave a hand over his shoulder. 

“Sorry, but I’m full up on friends at the moment,” He sighed, voice not quite as breezy as Shizuo remembered it. 

The inmate pursuing him didn’t seem deterred, he stalk forward until Izaya was forced to turn around and face his predatory grin. “Oh really?” He asked. “What about something else then?”

Izaya’s eyes narrowed, his smirk sharpened. As the other man came close enough to loom over him, Izaya squared his shoulders and kept the other’s stare without moving back. “I’m afraid I’m full up on those too,” He smiled insincerely.

The other man laughed, a loud puff of breath that Izaya didn’t flinch away from. Despite his best efforts, Shizuo found himself impressed. “Oh I bet you are,” The man drawled, “I’m sure you’ve let everyone in this building have a piece of your ass.” Izaya grimaced at the other’s lewd words, his eyes throwing tiny daggers. “But I promise you, I’ll do you better than any of them ever could.” The man reached out for Izaya’s side, hand sliding lecherously over his ass, and Shizuo only had a moment to wonder if he was supposed to be helping, if protecting Izaya from perverted creeps was some unstated part of their deal, before Izaya was moving in a whip-quick burst of motion to drive his knee up into the groin of the man before him.

The inmate doubled over with a pained grunt, and Shizuo swore it was the only sound in the room. Izaya kicked the man again, while he was still hunched over, and this time it sent him falling to the ground. Without a moment’s worth of hesitation, Izaya stormed forward, grabbed the arm the stranger had used to touch him, and began twisting it up behind his back, further and further, until even from where he was sitting Shizuo could hear the loud and sickening crack.

He thought he might have winced if he weren’t so shocked. He wasn’t used to being the observer to such ruthless violence; he’d always been on the end that left him seeing too much red to hear his opponents screams. And scream this man did. As he watched Izaya drop the inmate’s arm only to send his foot forward and kick him in the face, a vicious snarl curling his lips, Shizuo wondered if this was what other people saw every time he flew into a rage. 

Izaya kicked the man again, hard enough that his head cracked back and an alarming amount of blood began to pour from his nose and pool on the concrete. Shizuo was just getting ready to close his gaping mouth, to remove the straw that’d gotten stuck to his lip, and finally push himself to march forward and pull Izaya back before he killed the guy, but there were already prison guards rushing towards him, batons drawn and tasers at the ready. Izaya aimed one last angry kick to the centre of the man’s stomach before backing away. The guards offered him no more than a fleeting look, set on dragging the injured man away just like they’d done after Shizuo’s first violent altercation.

Izaya ran a hand through his hair, swept his gaze over the audience he’d garnered, and then turned to make his casual way back their table, sliding into the seat across from Shizuo like he hadn’t just beat a man half to death. “Are you going to finish those?” He asked, pointing to the bag of crackers Shizuo had left abandoned on his side of the table. Shizuo shook his head and watched with eyes probably still a little too wide as Izaya took the packet and began to eat. 

Shizuo wondered why in the world Izaya thought he needed his protection when he seemed to be doing more than just fine on his own; and then he wondered how bad this mystery person could possibly be that Izaya thought he couldn’t deal with him himself. 

For a second time today, Shizuo took a moment to appreciate how lucky he was to have Izaya on his side, to have this terrifying man finally willing to stand alongside him instead of against him.


End file.
